Anyone but you
by Katyakora
Summary: An unexpected morning after leads to strange places. When an attraction becomes something more, Fenris and Merrill struggle to find the strength to survive the trials ahead.
1. Chapter 1 Tequila is your Friend

_Disclaimer: Bioware owns__ all characters and places. I just make them dance for me_

Tequila Is Your Friend_  
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Fenris became aware of several things as he regained consciousness. The first was that he had an incredible hangover. The second was that he was not lying in his cot in his mansion, but on hard polished wood. Considering he had spent the previous evening at the Hanged Man, it was quite likely he had fallen asleep on Varric's dining table. The third was that he was clad only in his trousers. Vague recollections of a game of strip-diamondback could most likely account for that. And yet, despite his state of undress, and the late autumn chill, he was strangely warm. That was probably because of the person nestled against his chest. That was the fourth thing. Cautiously, he opened his eyes crack. The small amount of light in the room told him it was pre-dawn. Looking down, all he could see was raven hair. Since his hand was resting on what felt like a corset, he came to the conclusion that it was Isabella curled up against him. It wouldn't be the first time they'd passed out together after drinking. No doubt they had gotten close for the warmth. Sighing, he closed his eyes and hoped he'd have slept off his hangover once he woke again.

Merrill had never been hung over before. She was finding it both unpleasant and fascinating. After a time, she realised she was only wearing her underclothes. She'd been lucky. Of their merry band of misfits, Bethany was the only one who worse at cards than she was, and thus Hawke had called an end to the game before it went too far. I love you all, he'd said, but I'd have to kill you if you got a look at Beth's naughty bits. Merrill wondered how Hawke had failed to notice Isabella getting a handful of Bethany's 'naughty bits' whenever she could. Bethany didn't seem to mind. Of course, once the card game was over, then Isabella suggested a game of spin the bottle. Most of the group probably wouldn't have agreed, if not for the copious amounts of that strange alcohol of Isabella's they'd had. Tekla? Tequila? Something like that. Apparently, she'd imported it from Rivain, and had been nice enough to make Merrill a delicious drink called a Margarita with it. Fenris had been drinking the stuff straight from the bottle. He'd been surprisingly animated after a few bottles, smiling and joking, hardly scowling at all. Maybe it was because they'd killed Hadriana a week ago. Merrill supposed this was his first chance to celebrate, since they'd only just returned from their trip to the Vimmark Mountains. Varric's tale of what happened there had been rather spectacular, and the celebration had begun before he'd even finished.

Merrill felt her cheeks warm as she remembered the game. With the exception of Isabella, most of the kisses had been rather chaste. And then her spin had landed on Fenris. They were seated next to each other, and when she'd moved to give him a peck on the lips, he had grabbed the back of her head, deepening the kiss. When she'd felt his tongue questing against her lips, she'd let him in. He'd tasted of tequila and some kind of spice. The touch of his lyrium against her skin had made her whole body tingle…much like it was now.

She opened her eyes slightly, to discover the sight of a dusky chest laced with white. She was suddenly very aware of the warm body pressed up against her, of her leg straddling his hip, and of the hard length pressed against her stomach. She swallowed hard. The whole thing felt wonderful. She didn't want to move, didn't want to wake him, knowing that the spell would be broken, and he would hate her once more. Unfortunately, her body chose that moment to inform her she rather desperately needed to use the privy. Very carefully, she unhooked her knee from his hip. The figure beside her groaned at the movement, pulling her closer and placing his leg over hers, effectively pining her in place. Now there was no way to get away without waking him.

"Fenris" she whispered. There was no response.

"Fenris" she repeated, louder this time. He grunted, but did not wake. She cleared her throat.

"Fenris" she said loudly. He opened his eyes blearily and looked down at her. "As wonderful as it is for you to be so nice, I really need to use the privy. Would you mind letting go?" Fenris just stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened as his brain finally processed the situation. He leapt away from her like she'd struck him with a lightning bolt, tumbling over the side of the table, narrowly avoiding hitting a passed out Aveline.

"Do you two mind? Some of us are trying to die here." Grumbled the lump in Varric's bed.

Merrill chose that moment to escape, hurriedly grapping her clothes before running to find the privy. Fenris' reaction had hurt. She knew what he was like, knew why he hated mages, but it still hurt every time he insulted her, or treated her like a monster. And then to have a taste of what could have been, being held in those strong arms, feeling protected and accepted. Fenris was the only person who had ever actually made her feel ashamed of her magic, if only because he might have looked at her differently if she'd been born without it. Merrill managed to hold back the tears until she got home. Then they came in a flood.


	2. Chapter 2 Worries and Realisations

Worries and Realisations

She was watching him again.

"Avert your eyes, Witch." He spat. It was infuriating, the way she was always watching him. As if she wasn't in his head enough. It had been bad enough when they first met.

_Fenris wasn't really paying any attention to what was happening as the made their way towards the path. He was bored, and the Dalish were staring at him. Everyone always stared at him. He glanced up when he heard the Keeper's First call a greeting. He was startled a little by how beautiful she was. She was lithe yet curvaceous, with porcelain skin, perfectly accented by raven hair and black tattoos. Her big, emerald eyes were ernest and sweet. And she was absolutely adorable as she babbled at Hawke. Fenris hadn't realised he was staring until Isabella had dug him in the ribs and whispered with a grin;_

"_Enjoying the view?" Fenris had just scowled in response._

And then he'd learnt she was not just a mage, but a blood mage. That knowledge had certainly put a dampener on his attraction. He'd managed to mostly ignore her for the better part of three years. Until that damned night at the Hanged Man. Maker spit on Rivainis and their damned potent liquor. Ever since then, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. He couldn't forget how it had felt to hold her, or kiss her, even through the drunken haze. He couldn't forget how her touch hadn't made the markings hurt, but tingle. She was beautiful and sweet and naïve, and a maker-forsaken blood mage. Hadn't mages ruined his life enough already? Did they have to invade every facet of his life?

"We're being attacked. What a surprise." Hawke drawled as he drew his daggers. Hawke was always attracting trouble. It seemed the man couldn't step out his front door without offending someone. Even a trip to Sundermount and the Dalish camp was twice as dangerous with Hawke leading the way. But this was _Hawke_ after all, and the bandits were swiftly dealt with. As they got closer and closer to the Dalish camp, it didn't escape Fenris' notice that Merrill suddenly became very quiet and reserved. Merrill only babbled when she was nervous, and was never quiet in delicate situations. This Fenris knew from his prudent (some would say obsessive) observations. This could only mean she was steeling her nerve, preparing for something unpleasant. That knowledge set Fenris on edge, his grip on his sword tightening. Who knew what the blood mage might do if backed into a corner? Turn on them? Sacrifice them? He swore to himself he would not let that happen. He would watch, and make sure she had no excuse to use that disgusting blood magic. If he protected her, she would have no cause to turn on them. Yes, that was the reason.

She was watching him again.

Even as she mentally prepared herself for her impending conversation with the Keeper, Merrill couldn't keep her mind from wandering back to Fenris. Creators, but the fire he'd stirred in her! Every time her thoughts back to that drunken kiss, or the feel of him pressed up against her, all lithe and hot and _male_! It filled her with a heat that pooled in her nethers, and made her tingle in a delightful shadow of the way his lyrium had tingled. She had never felt such things before, only heard about them from Isabela or read about them in Varric's naughtier novels. It was wonderful that she'd found someone who brought out that side of her, but it was _Fenris_. The prickly, grumpy, mage-hating, damnably handsome Dread Wolf himself. She doubted he would have deigned to speak to her, let alone touch her at all, without being as drunk as he was. And she knew herself enough to know she didn't want him like that. Drunken Fenris was fun, it was true, and far more likeable, but that wasn't Fenris to her. No, she wanted Fenris as he had been in the morning, as he slept, so peaceful and untroubled. And in that moment when he woke, when, still half asleep, he had looked down at her in his arms, looking as though finding her there was the most natural thing in the world. She would give anything for that moment again.

And it was in that moment, as they approached the entrance to the camp, that she realised she was helplessly in love with the one man who hated her and all she stood for.

"Oh Mythal have mercy" she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3 An Unpleasant Exchange

An Unpleasant Exchange

Fenris was grateful that Hawke was too busy looting the Varterral's twitching corpse and Anders was busy trying to get the rogue to sit still for a healing. He would have been mortified if anyone were witness to his torment. He was frozen in midstride, his body locked in place, with his right hand held out in front of him. He'd caught himself in the gesture even as his traitorous body was already walking towards her, sobbing over her fallen clan mate. He'd closed half the distance between them before stopping himself, horrified by what he'd been about to do. What in the Maker's name had possessed him to want to comfort the little monster?

And it was in that thought the seed of a suspicion was planted. She wouldn't, would she? Yes, she was a blood mage, but in the few moments when he was honest with himself, he knew it was naivety that had led her there, rather than greed or malice. And she had been nothing but loyal to Hawke, she would never do anything to jeopardise her standing with him.

Hawke had a very callous attitude towards human life. In his mind, everyone but 'me and mine' was expendable, and Hawke was fiercely protective of his makeshift family. Nobody touched them without fierce retribution. Fenris himself had been rather taken aback when he realised that Hawke considered him thus, vehemently defending him against slavers, taking an almost personal offense to their audacity. It was almost touching.

So there was no way she would be stupid enough… but then again, she had been stupid enough to deal with a demon…

Fenris turned away from the sobbing form in disgust. There was only one way to be sure, and loathe as he was to admit, there was only one person he could go to for help.

Once they had returned to Kirkwall, Fenris waited until nightfall before trudging into Darktown. Anders was surprised, to say the least, when the angry elf marched into his clinic as he was cleaning up. And he was alone too, no Hawke dragging him down there to be healed. Anders was suddenly glad he had his staff on him. The two stood facing each other, mentally sizing the other up. And for the third time in as many minutes, Anders was surprised when Fenris suddenly looked uncomfortable, not meeting his eye as he muttered out quickly:

"Mage, I need a favour."

"What?" was all he could reply, completely stunned. Fenris growled.

"I need a favour." He said through clenched teeth. Anders groaned.

"Maker, not you too? Honestly, is Isabela really that hard to turn down?" Fenris just blinked at him.

"What?"

"You're not here about an itch then?"

"No."

"Thank the Maker. You'd have killed me for the examination alone." Fenris just stared him with a vaguely nauseated look before pressing on.

"As I was saying, I… I need something…tested and you are the only mage I know who can do it." Anders snorted.

"You mean I'm the only one you haven't killed."

"You're doing a grand job of making me rethink that decision." He growled. Anders, meanwhile, was smirking.

"Why don't you ask Merrill? You two were close enough at the Hanged Man a few weeks ago?" Goading him probably wasn't the best idea, but it was worth the look of startled guilt, even if it was quickly covered be a snarl.

"Abomination, do this for me and I shall owe you a favour. If not, then I am leaving." Anders sighed. Loathe as he was to help the aggravating elf, the thought of him owing Anders a favour was too sweet to pass up.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. Fenris looked stunned for a moment, having expected a refusal. Then he began to pace as he spoke.

"I need you to see if I have been…bewitched somehow. If there is a demon influencing my thoughts, or blood magic, or… something, I don't know!" The fact that his angry words were laced with desperation did not get past Anders. Now he was really curious.

"What on the Void makes you think you're 'bewitched'?" he asked. Fenris just growled in response. Anders crossed his arms. "Do you want my help or not?" Fenris cursed in Arcanum, and then replied with a sigh.

"I have been having thoughts that are…disturbing. My dreams are not my own, my mind is not my own, she is in every-" he stopped, suddenly very aware of whom to he was speaking. Anders gaped at him for a moment, trying to figure out if this was a joke. But the elf was completely serious. He couldn't help it. He laughed. The glare he received could have stripped paint.

"Fenris, do you honestly not know what you just described?" The elf just raised an eyebrow. Anders smirked. "You're in love."

"I am not!" came the vehement denial. Anders suppressed more laughter. The elf was quite obviously at the end of his patience. More laughter would no doubt earn him a hand through the chest.

"Look, I can dispel any lingering magic you may have on you, blood, demonic or otherwise, but I doubt it will help."

"Just do it." The elf growled. "And if you speak of this to anyone, not even your demon can protect you." Anders huffed at the threat, but complied. Once complete, Fenris just stood in silence for a moment.

"Well?" Anders asked, once his curiosity got the better of him.

"I feel no different." Came the grudging reply.

"Told you." That earned him another glare. "You're a mortal like the rest of us Fenris. Even you aren't immune to love. A bitch, isn't it?" Fenris sighed defeatedly, and turned to go. As he walked, Anders mentally put two parts of their strange exchange together.

"Fenris?" he called. The retreating figure halted. "For what it's worth, if anyone can turn her away from blood magic, it'd be you." Fenris fled.


	4. Ch 4 Rage is a Hell of an Anaesthetic

_A/N: Warning NSFW. I'd also like to warn you that this went in a very unexpected direction. _

Rage is a Hell of an Anaesthetic

It did not stop. He found himself watching her on the battlefield, admiring her form, the way every spell and gesture flowed into the next, in a strange dance to music only she could hear. If beside her in battle, he could faintly hear her humming. And that was more often than he liked to admit. He almost gravitated towards her, taking care of the enemies that threatened her most. Hawke was oblivious to Fenris' protective behaviour. Anders smirked with that infuriatingly knowing look as he dropped loaded comments. The others didn't see Merrill and Fenris fighting together enough to put it together, for which Fenris was grateful. It was hard enough trying to figure this out without his 'friends' introducing their wild conjecture in the form of that ridiculous friend fiction.

_Bronze skin on white flesh, the scent of flowers and summer fruits intoxicating him, the taste of promise on her lips, her voice in his ear whispering 'I'm yours' –_ Fenris woke with a start, that voice ringing in his ears long after the dream had fled. He looked out the window at the moon. It wasn't even midnight. This had to stop. Resolutely he began to pull on his armour.

Merrill was still awake reading when she heard the heavy knock on her door, clad in the simple green tunic she wore to bed. Assuming it was Hawke wanting to drag off on another adventure, she opened the door wide, ready to greet him. She took a step back when she saw that it was Fenris on her doorstep, feeling her heart skip, although she couldn't tell if it was from excitement or fear. From the look in his eye, he was furious. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off as he stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.

"Make it stop." He growled.

"Fenris?" she said tentatively as he backed her into the wall. She squeaked a little when her shoulders met wood. He loomed over her, every muscle tensed and coiled, like a panther about to pounce.

"Make. It. Stop." He demanded, his face only inches away and etched with hatred.

"Um … Make what stop?" she asked quietly. Apparently this was the wrong thing to say because he then exploded.

"You know exactly what!" he yelled. "This hold, this compulsion, to see you every time I close my eyes, to think of you constantly when you aren't there, to want to protect you and keep you safe! I refuse to allow your demon magic to control my thoughts!" As he spat his accusations at her, she realised what he was saying. And what he thought she had done. It made her mind go cold, and her blood burn. She cut him off before his tirade could continue, and every word she spoke was dripping with her rage and indignation.

"That's it, isn't it? All you ever see is the blood magic! Never mind the fact that I have used it a grand total of three times in my life, after spending months researching every other possible method out there! No, the fact that you've been thinking of me MUST be blood magic, there's no way it could be your own natural feelings because Creators forbid you might actually feel something for a mage!" she paused for a moment to slap him hard across the face. It felt good, as did the stunned look on his face. She gave him a glare to rival one of his own. "No matter how much I want you, I would face Fen'Harel himself before I used magic against your will!" she should have been embarrassed by her confession, she should have been babbling apologies for hitting him, but her anger held her tongue and his smouldering gaze.

Gazing down at those defiant eyes, her cheeks flushed with anger and her hair wild, Merrill had never looked more beautiful. His hands grabbed her shoulders even as hers locked around his neck. The force of the kiss was bruising, and held little similarity to their first kiss. Rage and passion hissed through their veins, and neither was gentle.

Merrill's hands fisted in his hair and pulled, even as his sharp gauntlets gripped her arse hard to pull them flush together, their hips grinding mercilessly. As their tongues duelled, Merrill's hands snaked down his chest to the buckles of his chestplate. She tore it from his chest and tossed it across the room. Fenris growled, furious at the damage done to his armour. In response his clawed gauntlets tore through the belt and the leather ties that held her tunic in place. The offending cloth was ripped from her person roughly, revealing the corset and smalls beneath. His hands gripped her thighs, hoisting them above his hips as he pushed her roughly against the wall.

Rough as they were with each other, it was necessary. Their anger drove their passion. Drove it past his feelings about her magic, drove it past the doubts and questions that would otherwise tumble from her lips and complicate things. In the strangest way it freed them to do that which they were most afraid to do, to be intimate and vulnerable with the one they loved.

Merrill's fingers found the break in the leather at the front of his jacket. With all her strength, she ripped it open, tearing the clasps that held it closed. With a snarl, Fenris bit into the side of her neck, savouring the taste of her skin. Merrill cried out, the pain mingling deliciously with the pleasure radiating from his lyrium brands, and the feel of him grinding against her. Her hands delved beneath the leather jacket, now loose, to claw into his back muscles, pulling him close so she could sink her teeth into his ear.

He almost dropped her as his body went limp, a low moan escaping his lips as she bit hard into the flesh of his earlobe. His gauntlets came up to tear open the laces of her corset, tossing it to the side, as his mouth sought the newly exposed nipple, pink and erect with her arousal. She moaned low into his ear as his teeth raked the tender flesh, her fingernails digging into his back. Her hips bucked insistently against his arousal, prompting him to pull them away from the wall. With her wrapped around his hips, he carried her into her bedroom.

Dumping her into her bed, he took a moment to shuck off his ruined jacket before joining her. Their crushing kiss began anew, with Merrill lying beneath him. Her smalls were quickly shredded by his gauntlets, and Merrill bit down hard into his shoulder as he entered her roughly. She had never done this before, but conversations with Isabela had prepared her for the discomfort. Merrill was no stranger to pain, and the pleasurable buzz of the lyrium against her skin and her sex more than made up for it. Soon the pain eased, and their battle for dominance resumed. Every attempt she made to move on top was thwarted, her anger building as he used his superior strength to keep her beneath him. He chuckled wickedly at her frustration. With a glare, she head-butted him, startling him enough to flip him. She gave him an almost predatory grin as he scowled beneath her.

She hissed as she felt herself stretch further to accommodate him at this new angle. When she moved, she began to appreciate why Isabela liked it on top. She moaned in time to their rhythm as the pressure built within her. Below her, Fenris half sat up to take her nipple into his mouth once more, his steel-clad hands gripping her hips giving aid to their movement.

The buzz of the lyrium, the pain of Fenris' teeth and claws and the pressure within became one thing and everything for a moment, and she threw her head back as she came, her nails drawing blood where they gripped his skin. Fenris felt her tighten in spasms around his length and his own pleasure hit its peak. His claws at her hips had drawn blood also, but neither cared. They collapsed together in a panting heap, one lost in the moment, the other in a memory.


	5. Chapter 5 Explanations at the Hanged Man

Explanations at the Hanged Man

He stood up and crossed the room when she began to stir. Very carefully, he half-filled a large bowl with water from the steaming kettle, before adding cold water so it wouldn't scold. She was sitting up as he approached the bed, blinking her eyes blearily with the blanket clutched to her naked chest. He placed the basin on the trunk at the end of the bed, dampening a cloth in the warm water. She watched him as he sat down on the edge of the bed and offered her the cloth, finally looking her in the eye.

"I am sorry." He said gravely, and she watched as his gaze guiltily traced the blood and bruises marring her porcelain skin.

"It's all right Fenris, really I'm fine." She assured him. A blush crept into her cheeks. "It was all rather lovely actually." Her big green eyes study his face, watching his internal anguish as it played across his face. "Something else is wrong, isn't it?" She asked hesitantly, unsure of how much he wished to share with her. She had always been on unfamiliar ground with Fenris. Not that relationships were familiar ground for her at all, she thought miserably. Fenris stared at the fire in silence for a time.

"I began to remember…things from my past." He stands, and she wonders idly how he managed to get his plate buckled on again after the damage she did. He's agitated, and she knows where this is going. "I've never remembered anything from before the ritual, and to have it all come back in a rush…I can't..."his voice trails off and he looks back at her helplessly. She swallows, her throat dry.

"You're going to leave." It isn't a question.

"Forgive me." She watches him go. She doesn't cry. To grieve would be to accept it, and she just can't.

* * *

><p>"I shit you not Rivaini – Maker's Breath!" Varric gasped "Daisy, what happened?" Isabela swivelled in her seat and gasped as well. Merrill's eyes were dark and sunken, like she hadn't slept. Her lip was bruised and swollen, as was her left cheekbone, and one eyebrow was sporting a cut.<p>

"Oh Kitten, are you all right? Do I need to drag Anders in here?" Isabela asked as she pulled the elf into a hug. "It wasn't slavers in the alienage again was it?"

"I'm fine, really I'm fine." Merrill assured them quietly. But her eyes refused to meet theirs, and the two rogues exchanged a look.

"Daisy… this wouldn't by any chance have anything to do with the fact that Broody was seen heading to the alienage last night, would it?" Varric asked gently.

"Um, I, ah I need a drink!" she stuttered, before hurrying over to the bar. Varric and Isabela exchanged another very worried look.

"What do you think happened?" Varric mused. "Fenris may hate mages, but he's more of a 'ripe their heart out' kind of guy, not a 'beat them in their own home' kind of guy." Isabela's eyes hadn't left Merrill, and she felt her eyes widen as what she saw fell into place.

"Actually Varric, I don't think you're too far off with the 'ripe her heart out' idea." Varric frowned for a moment, before his jaw dropped and he stared at his human friend.

"You can't be serious? Daisy and Broody? It defies logic. Not even I could make that shit up. You're losing your touch." Varric scoffed. Isabela looked oddly grim.

"I may be drunken slattern, as some would put it, but I know the look of a woman who's lost something she didn't know she had to lose." Merrill was making her way back, walking slowly around various tables and drunks, trying not to spill her drink. "I'll handle this Varric; you go drag Anders out of Darktown. We'll be in your suite when you get back."

Varric didn't have to go far. He'd been at a house call in the alienage, and bumped into Varric at the stairs leading to Darktown's closest entrance. Anders looked confused when Varric said he had a patient for him, but the dwarf didn't elaborate, just pulled him into the Hanged Man. As they entered Varric's suite and shut the door, Isabela's low voice became audible from the alcove where Varric's bed was.

"-can't expect men to know what they really want. And Maker, the man should have known better – oh you're back quickly." Isabela said as she looked around. She was sitting next to Merrill on the bed with her arm around the smaller girl's shoulders.

"Andraste's Arse! What happened?" Anders exclaimed, stepping forward to get a better look at Merrill's injuries.

"Fenris happened." Isabela said grimly. Anders looked startled.

"Fenris? That can't be right, Fenris lo – likes to kill mages not beat them." He covered from his near deadly mistake quickly. Merrill put her head in her hands.

"Please everyone, this is very sweet but I'm fine, really, and Fenris didn't mean to hurt me, not in the way you think, a bit of hurt was sort of the idea, but it's ok, please don't tell him I said anything I don't want him to be mad at me." She babbled through her hands. Isabela sighed. "At the very least let Anders have a look at your scrapes and see if they need healing. The bite on your neck definitely will." She dragged Varric from his own room, leaving the two mages alone, ignoring Varric's inquisitive 'Bite? What bite?'

"Promise you won't ask questions? I got so embarrassed explaining my neck to Isabela. I'd probably die off embarrassment if I have to explain it with a fade spirit listening." She looked so like a child caught doing something wrong that Anders almost wanted to hug her, despite his distaste for her magic. Chuckling, he replied.

"I might need an explanation every now and then to help treatment. I promise Justice won't listen." She gave him a small smile, and pulled down her scarf.

Anders choked back an oath at the sight of her neck. The muscle at the side of her neck was angry and swollen, and there were thick scabs where teeth had pierced the skin. But she wasn't done. With a furious blush, she began to remove more clothing; each articled removed finding more damage. Sleeves revealed bruised rings at her wrists. Pauldrons showed incisions where clawed tips had gripped. Leggings found heavily bruised thighs. Her tunic revealed deep slices in her back and gouges at her hips. She silently thanked the creators that Fenris had ruined her corset, forcing her to wear a breastband instead. Anders was a healer, but removing her corset for him would have her dying of embarrassment.

Anders carefully schooled his expression into professional interest. He removed any and all infection, closed all the wounds and healed the bruises. He tried not to blush as he pieced together how each injury occurred. Maker, why couldn't that damned elf had taken off those gauntlets of his? Those things were routinely used to rip hearts from chest, and the evidence was in the infection Anders was currently drawing from the wound in Merrill's back.

A thought occurred to him, and he gingerly placed his hand on her stomach and sent his magic questing in. Thankfully he only found bruising and the usual damage done when this canal was used for the first time, which he quickly healed before retreating to allow her to dress. Outside the door he found the two rogues playing wicked grace. With a lewd joke and a wink, Isabella slipped past him into the suite. Varric idly picked up Bianca and rested her on his shoulder.

"I think it's time we take a walk to Hightown." He said pleasantly. "Coming?"

"As long as we stop at Elegant's on the way. I want full mana for this."


	6. Chapter 6 Explanations at the Mansion

Explanations at the Mansion

"So you used her, abused her and then you left her. Why am I not surprised?" Anders stated angrily as he reached the second floor. The elf he sought was slumped forward on a bench in front of the fire, his head in his hand. He didn't turn to look at his visitor.

"Do not speak of things you do not understand, Mage." Came the muffled reply, but it lacked the usual venom.

Varric had been waylaid when one of his contacts approached him in the street, and Anders had continued on, followed by promises to catch up. He'd paused when he reached the rundown mansion, intending to wait, but thought better of it. The likelihood of Fenris retreating into defensive silence would increase with the number of people present; Anders thought it best to confront him alone. While he had never really been friends with Merrill, a part of him could not abide the callous way in which Fenris had apparently treated her. And so he stood before Fenris, looking every inch the angry older brother.

"How could you do this to her?" he demanded. "I thought you loved her. And yet the moment you get what you want, you're gone. And Maker's mercy, Fenris, I spent half an hour removing all the bloody infections from her wounds! You didn't even have the consideration to take off those filthy claws of yours before you raped her –" Anders suddenly found himself slammed into the wall, his chest on in agony at the invasion of a glowing, spiked hand.

"I want to make two things very clear, Mage." Fenris' voice was deathly quiet, but Anders flinched like he'd yelled. "First, the one and only reason you will keep your pathetic life today is because I am grateful that you saw to her injuries. Second, you have seen her fight. Had I ever even attempted something as abhorrent as what you suggested, she would have been more than capable of defending herself. I assure you, she gave as good as she got." Anders was released, and was for the first time aware that Fenris had a split lip and a spectacular black eye. When Fenris turned back towards the fire, Anders caught sight of the bruises down his neck and bloody teeth marks in his ear.

"So it was consensual?" he asked as he gingerly probed his chest for any damage. Fenris snorted as he picked up a discarded bottle of wine.

"She did THAT to my armour ripping it off me." He growled, gesturing to the pile on the bed. "I'd say that's evidence enough she had no problem with the situation." Anders inspected the dented chestplate and heavily torn leather jacket. He raised an eyebrow in astonishment.

"_Merrill _did this?"

"With her bare hands." Came the dry reply. Anders put down the ruined armour and approached the fire.

"So why did you leave?" Anders could have sworn he saw Fenris flinch.

"That is none of your concern."

"Well, that may be true for Blondie, but Bianca and I feel it is very much our concern." Varric stated as he strolled into the room. "So Broody, care to explain why Daisy looks like she tried wrestling a bronto?" Anders snorted and replied.

"It would appear your little 'kitten' likes it rough." Varric's eyebrows shot up.

"Huh. Didn't think she had it in her." He mused. "Dalish sexual preferences aside, we've all seen the way she looks at you, and Anders isn't as subtle as he thinks" –

"Hey!"

– "so I know you've been carrying a torch. So what's the real problem here elf?" Varric asked gently as he sat down on Fenris' bench. Fenris stared broodily at the fire.

"I have my reasons. It is better if she hates me. It is no more than I deserve." He said, taking a long swig from the bottle in his hand. Varric sighed.

"I think you're shit out of luck there. She's more worried about you being mad at her than hating you." The dwarf stood, slinging Bianca onto his back. "Well, you're lucky you look like you've had seven shades of shit kicked out of you, otherwise you and Bianca would be having harsh words right now. Since I know you won't listen to us I'm heading back to the Hanged Man. Come play Wicked Grace when you're done brooding. Come on Blondie." They left they elf alone in his thoughts. Anders waited until they were out in the street to speak.

"You know, I'd have thought you'd work harder than that to get the truth out of him." He broached as they walked.

"No point." Replied the story teller. "Some people wallow in their own misery and wanna tell everyone who'll listen what a tragedy their life is. Broody is not one of those people. He'd only tell that sort of shit to someone he really trusted, and we both know he isn't big on trust. As much as he enjoys my company and trying to beat me at cards, he doesn't trust me. I'd wager the only person who could get the truth from him is Merrill, but I doubt they'll be having that conversation any time soon." A sly grin began to spread across the dwarf's face.

"What are you planning?" asked Anders suspiciously. Varric chuckled.

"If we leave it up to them, it'll be years before they actually sit down and talk about what happened last night. So it's up to us, as their friends, to give them a little push."

"They're hardly my friends."

"Hah! Sure didn't sound like that when you were chewing Fenris out for hurting Merrill. You're part of Hawke's merry band of misfits. Whether you like it or not, you'll get dragged in anyway. You might as well help willingly."

"Hmm. Fine. What's your plan?"


	7. Chapter 7 pt 1 Progress

_A/N: This was meant to be longer but my laptop is running out of battery and I'm still tired from moving house. The next chapter will be a part two to this one, and I'll try not to take so long this time._

Progress

"Are you sure about this Isabella? It's very pretty but it's not very practical…" Merrill said dubiously as her friend made the final adjustments to her outfit.

"It's absolutely adorable! And you did say you needed new clothes." The rogue replied as she stepped back to admire her work. She had just returned from a seven month absence, cheerfully knocking on the surprised elf's door that morning, a devious smirk on her face and a bag slung over her shoulder. Merrill had been overjoyed to see her friend, and delighted to learn that the bag contained presents in the form of the tight green and brown outfit she now wore.

"Come on, let's show Varric." Isabela said enthusiastically as she dragged Merrill out the door. "And you can tell me what I've been missing on the way. Is Hawke still trying to convince Sebastian that it doesn't count with a man?" Merrill frowned slightly as she thought.

"I'm not sure. They seem to be treating each other the same, but Sebastian does get that silly smile on his face whenever he thinks no one's looking." Isabela cackled at that.

"It seems he's made progress then." The rogue gave her companion a sidelong look. "And what about Fenris? Have you made any progress?" Merrill looked down at her feet and fiddled with the hem of her dress. Isabela sighed, and began to understand just why Varric had sent her that letter.

"I haven't really seen anyone since you left." Merrill said quietly. "They've all been so busy. Hawke has his responsibilities as Champion. Aveline had to take care of the riots after the Qunari attacked, and now she's in Orlais. Anders has been busy in his clinic, although I did see him when I went to help out with all the injured from the Qunari. Varric came to visit on occasion, but he's been busy overseeing the repairs to the Hanged Man. Corff was so grateful that Varric was willing to pay for the repairs that he declared him part owner. And I suppose Fenris has been busy. Varric hasn't seen him since the attack either." The look of misery on Merrill's face broke Isabela's heart, and she put her arm around the smaller woman's shoulders in a reassuring hug as they reached the tavern.

* * *

><p>"Glad to see you're still alive Elf." Varric said archly as Fenris sauntered back to the corner table they favoured when not in Varric's suite. Fenris took a long pull from the bottle he had just bought as he sat down.<p>

"Ran out of wine." He said in reply, picking up the hand of cards Varric had delt him without asking.

"since it seems you've coin today, I thought you wouldn't mind a hand or two of Wicked Grace. Rivaini's back in town, she'll probably join us soon." Fenris frowned as he surveyed his hand.

"I wasn't aware she'd left."

"That's because you've been holed up in your damn mansion. Was it really so terrible having to fight next to Daisy against the Qunari? I suppose it would have been too much to ask that you two talk it out."

"Battle is hardly the place for any sort of discussion, had either of us been so inclined." Fenris said as he tossed two cards into the discard pile, and drew two more. "And I recall telling you it was none of your concern." Anyone else would have backed down at the threat in his tone, but Varric was not afraid of his friend.

"Actually, you told me your reasons were none of my concern, not the situation as a whole. And Daisy is like the little sister I never had. I'd like to see her happy."

"I doubt she would be happy with me. And it's your turn."

"She certainly isn't happy without you. And neither are you, if I'm any judge. You can't just ignore this. Whatever this is."

"I beg to differ." The elf asserted as he frowned at his hand. He didn't see Varric look over his shoulder, nor the smirk that appeared on his face.

"Oh, I doubt that. Some things just can't be ignored. And look, Rivaini's here." Fenris turned and almost choked on his mouthful of wine.

It was unfair, cruel even. The dress was the colour of grass after rain, and stopped just below the tops of her leg guards, giving tantalising glimpses of creamy white thighs. It was an off-the-shoulder cut, leaving said shoulders and a delicate collarbone on display. The tight sleeves flowed down her long arms to flair slightly at her wrists. Over top of the dress was a very tight brown leather vest, delicately embroidered with emerald green vines. Its high collar accentuated her long neck, and it was cut low, under the bust, lifting breasts that strained against the tight leather to add to an already impressive cleavage. It hugged the irresistible figure usually hidden under loose wool, showing off a willowy waist and full hips.

Fenris realised his throat was dry, and he swallowed thickly, then turned to glare at the dwarf chuckling across the table from him.

"I win." Varric said smugly as he lay down his cards, although Fenris was not entirely certain it was the game he referred to. He took another long pull from his bottle as Isabela bounded up to their table, pulling an uncomfortable looking Merrill behind her.

"Fenris! Glad to see you haven't turned into the hermit Varric said you were. I've got something for you." As she rummaged through her bag of gifts, Fenris' gaze was drawn inevitably to the lithe figure peering cautiously at him from behind the effervescent rogue. A look of tentative hope graced her features as two sets of green eyes met. The vulnerability in that gaze made him want to pull her close and envelope her in the safety of his arms. He wrenched his gaze away before the urge overwhelmed him. A fleeting look back etched the portrait of her misery in his mind, and he wanted to rip his own heart out for being the reason for it.

This was madness. She had borne three year's worth of his vitriol, and he had seen her unhappiness countless times as a result. And yet now he could not stand the sight of her misery, wanted to bring fierce retribution to it's cause, even though it was he himself who was responsible. The damned dwarf was right. Some things just could not be ignored, and she was one of them.

"AHA!" Isabela cried triumphantly as she pulled a crumpled cloth bag from the bottom of her sack. "This is for you." She said as he gingerly took it from her. He upturned it onto the table, and a rainbow of colours burst forth. Fenris looked at the her with a raised eyebrow as he held up a fistful of cloth.

"Underclothes?" he said incredulously. She giggled.

"Since I guessed the colour of your current ones, I thought I'd buy you a few more colours so the game is more fun." She said delightedly. He hooked a bright pink pair on one gauntleted finger.

"These are women's underclothes." He pointed out drily. Her grin widened.

"I did say more fun, didn't I?" He just rolled his eyes in response. "Anyway, what do you think of the new outfit I bought Kitten? Come on, give us a twirl." A very self-conscious Merrill did a quick spin, her cheeks flaming.

"Very nice." Varric said approvingly. "Those colours were a good choice Rivaini." She preened at the compliment, then turned to the warrior.

"Fenris? What do you think?" His gaze was dragged up from it's resolute examination of the table. The two rogues held their breath as his eyes made their way up, taking in every detail of the figure before him. His gaze continued to rise up, past her collar, and a frown formed on his handsome features.

"Your hair is longer." His deep voice rumbled out thoughtfully.

"Oh," Merrill said as her hand flew unconsciously to her ebony hair. Locks that had once grazed her temples now fell past her cheekbones. "I suppose it is. The Keeper used to cut it for me, and Isabela did it after that but she's been away. I don't usually pay much attention to it, as long as it stays in it's braids it doesn't trouble me much and I'm babbling I'll stop now." She looked down in embarrassment, going back to playing with the hem of her skirt.

"It suits you." She looked up at the husky whisper. "As does your clothing." He wasn't looking at her, instead at his wine bottle, but he saw her tentative smile reflected in the glass.

"Isabela?" The tension was broken as all four heads turned in surprise to look at Anders. "When did you get back?"


	8. Chapter 7 pt 2 Progression

Progression

He was staring at her. Why was he staring at her? And it wasn't even at her, but at her chest! What was so interesting that he had to keep staring, chewing his lip thoughtfully?

"Your turn Blondie." Varric said absently, startling the abomination from his voyeurism. He hastily threw a couple of coppers into the pot, before his eyes travelled back to Merrill. Fenris couldn't take it anymore. Merrill was oblivious, either concentrating on her cards, or chatting animatedly at Isabela. He knew from the strange look Varric had shared with Isabela that they noticed, but apparently neither cared.

"Venhedis!" he snarled, slamming his fist onto the table. "Must you stare like a lecher?" Anders eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before realisation dawned and his eyes widened.

"I, I didn't, I mean I'm not…"he stuttered, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was looking at the embroidery, I swear." He blurted, obviously in fear of his ribcage being relieved of his heart.

"Oh its lovely isn't it?" Merrill piped in with a smile, oblivious to the undertones of the exchange. "The vines actually form patterns of Dalish symbols for strength and protection. I wonder if the seamstress knew what the pattern was, usually only keepers know the symbols and we aren't really taught embroidery." Anders suddenly snapped his fingers.

"That's it!" he cried. "I knew I'd seen something like that before." He pointed an accusing finger at Isabela. "You've been to Amaranthine!"

"Why yes, I have." Isabela said with a smirk. "And you have no idea what it took to convince Velanna to embroider that vest for me. Oh, and that reminds me…" once again she began to rummage through her sack. "I'd say these are a gift from me, but I know you'd never believe me." She pushed the bundle into his hands. They were robes, similar to the ones he now wore, but black, with glossy raven feathers on the pauldrons. "The Warden-Commander of Fereldan sends her regards. She wanted you to know that while she would love nothing more than to have her favourite mage back, she won't force you." She chuckled as she added. "Her husband doesn't quite share her views."

"Yes well, Loghain has a little obsession with duty." Anders said wryly. "I imagine my leaving greatly offended him."

"Yes, something along those lines. Oh, and this is from Nathaniel." She said as she tossed a battered envelope at him. He looked at it for a moment before tucking it away in his robes.

With the gifts given, the game of Wicked Grace began anew. After a few hands, when Fenris got up for more wine and Merrill was busy chatting to Isabela, Varric leaned closer to Anders and spoke quietly.

"This is going better than I expected."

"Yes," agreed Anders quietly. "I'm glad we waited for Isabela. She's much better at this sort of thing."

"Don't get ahead of yourself there Blondie, we still need you. You jumped to phase two a little quicker than I planned, but it worked out ok."

"It was an accident I swear! I was looking at the embroidery!" Anders repeated vehemently.

"Exactly." Chuckled Varric. "You gotta show her attention without showing actual interest. Don't want to confuse the poor girl." Anders frowned.

"I'm still not sure about this." He mused quietly.

"All I'm asking is you spend a little more time with her, get to know her. Once you get past the blood mage thing, she's a sweet girl. Worst case, you don't like her, everything goes back to normal. Best case, you gain a friend." Varric assured him.

"And this will appeal to Fenris' protective nature?"

"Precisely."

"That doesn't strike you as incredibly dangerous and stupid?"

"Relax Blondie. He'll only kill you if you actually make a move." Varric assured him with a smile.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the mage sticking your neck out for two people you don't even like." Anders muttered darkly.

"Get to know them Blondie." Varric said as he dealt the next hand. "Their good people, underneath it all. They deserve to be happy." Anders turned his head to study the markings on the elf approaching the table, bottles in hand. _Sod it, _thought Anders, _he may be a mage-hating arsehole, but even he deserves to be happy after what he's been through._


	9. Chapter 8 A Little Talk

A Little Talk

Fenris glared at Anders throughout their conversation on Dalish runes. He had clenched his fists and ground his teeth when Anders sat next to her when he returned from the privy. He dug the tips of his gauntlets into the table as Anders leaned slightly over her to question Isabela about her time in Amaranthine with Bethany. Every accidental brush, every interested question added fuel to the fire in his belly. Even when they migrated up to Varric's suite, and Fenris rather pointed sat down on Merrill's right, Anders took the seat on her left. The warmth he had felt when she smiled shyly at him had been quickly forgotten when Anders drew her into a discussion on the alienage.

It was as though the apostate had decided to flaunt before his eyes all the things he could do with Merrill that Fenris could, if only he would allow himself to. When Fenris finally admitted to himself that he was jealous of Anders' ability to engage her in something as simple as a polite conversation, he gripped his bottle so hard it shattered.

The previously rowdy room went quiet as all eyes turned to Fenris. He didn't notice, simply stared down at the mess on the table in from of him, idly wondering if it would have the same effect if he did that to the healer's arm. A part of him was glad the bottle had been near empty, or he might have stained Merrill's new dress.

A delicate hand gently took his gauntleted one. A well-used handkerchief was put to use cleaning the wine from his hand. The whole room was still, the only sounds drifting from the common room below.

"Really Fenris, I know you like to break the bottles, but you should really throw them. You might hurt yourself doing it this way." Merrill chided him gently. He stared at her incredulously, and she stared back with those innocent, earnest eyes. A deep, rumbling chuckle reached his ears, and it took a moment to realise it was coming from himself.

"It's finally happened." Anders said finally. "The elf has finally gone crazy."

"Anders." Fenris said pleasantly, getting to his feet. "Come with me for a moment." He gave the mage little choice in the matter as he grasped the back of his coat and dragged him along.

"What for?" squeaked the suddenly wild eyed mage. The grin Fenris gave him made him struggle even more against the elf's grip.

"We need to have a little talk." Anders regarded the uncharacteristically civil elf as though he had grown another head. _Andraste's flaming knickerweasels, he's going to kill me._

Fenris dragged the reluctant mage out into the street, and then promptly dragged him into an alley and slammed him into a wall.

"What's going on?" he growled into Anders face. "In all the time I've known you, you haven't been able to speak two sentences to Merrill without berating her over her blood magic. And yet you leapt to her defence, confronted me in my own home, and know you can't go five minutes without asking her input or opinion. So tell me, Mage: What Is Going On?"

"You're questioning ME? You, the mage hater who only deigned to speak to her when you wanted to insult her, who then all of a sudden beds her then leaves? What right do you have to question me?" Anders yelled defiantly.

"You know damn well what gives me the right."

"If you really love her then you have a fucked up way of showing it. Maker Fenris, she's miserable, you're miserable, and all because you're to bloody scared-" Fenris silenced him by punching him in the jaw. It sent the mage sprawling, blood welling from a cut lip.

"You still haven't answered me Mage." He said through clenched teeth. Anders glared up at him.

"It honestly never occurred to you that I might want to befriend her? That I might want to get to know her? That maybe, possibly, I thought to myself; '_If Fenris can see something past the blood magic, maybe she's worth getting to know?'_" the mage sat with his back against the tavern wall, healing his lip.. "But no, obviously the big bad abomination MUST have ulterior motives."

Fenris regarded the mage below him, trying to find any evidence of a lie. He found none. His instincts told him that something was amiss, but as far as he could tell, the mage spoke the truth, had indeed been unexpected forthright with him. That deserved something. He sighed.

"I suppose I cannot begrudge you a friend." He said quietly as he offered the mage his hand. Anders stared at the hand as though it were a snake.

"Is this a trick? You're being nice again." The mage said suspiciously. Fenris just looked at him. Anders continued to stare at him as though he were mad, but took the offered hand.

"You are more afraid of my civility than my threats?" Fenris asked as he hauled the mage up.

"Terrified." The mage replied seriously. He did not like the smirk that pulled at the elf's lips.

"Good to know."

* * *

><p>"What are they saying?" Isabela grunted. For a small man, Varric was <em>heavy<em>. He was currently standing on her shoulders to lean out the tall windows of his suite, Bianca in hand just in case the elf got carried away.

"I think Broody may be onto us." Varric said with a frown.

"Onto what?" asked Merrill from the table, as she went about cleaning up the shattered glass Fenris had left behind.

"Nothing Kitten, just a little bet Varric and I have going."

"Oh." said Merrill. "He's not hurting Anders is he? He was acting so strangely tonight. I'd hate for Anders to get hurt for being nice to me." Isabela blinked at her friend, and then smiled, proud that the little elf was more observant than they had given her credit for.

"Don't worry Daisy; they're just talking at the moment." Varric assured her from his perch.

"Why is Fenris so angry about it? Anders was just being friendly. It made a nice change actually." Merrill mused.

"I think Fenris was acting under the impression that Anders was interested in you." Isabela explained. "Romantically." She added when the elf just looked confused. She made an 'oh' shape with her mouth as she realised what the implications of Anders behaviour became clear. Isabela frowned as the elf suddenly looked worried.

"We're clear." Varric announced. "Blondie managed to talk him down. If taking a fist to the face and being sarcastic counts as talking down. They're coming up." Isabela gave an exaggerated sigh as she set the dwarf down.

"Maker's balls Varric, how much does Bianca weigh?" Varric looked incredibly offended.

"A lady never asks, and a gentleman never tells." He replied haughtily before making his way back to the table.

A few moments later, the two men re-entered the room. The two rogues were momentarily dismayed when the warrior proceeded to bid them goodnight. At last, he approached the other elf in the room, and cleared his throat.

"Merrill, if you would permit to join me, I would like to walk you home." It was well hidden, but those who knew him well heard the note of vulnerability in his voice. Fenris let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when Merrill smiled him, a slow radiant beam that spread across her beautiful face.

"I'd like that very much Fenris." She replied, before bidding the others a hasty goodnight, and then following him as he strode out of the tavern. The moment they were gone, Anders collapsed into a chair. He glared at Varric.

"You owe me big for that." He grumbled.

"It was nothing you couldn't handle." Varric said mildly.

"I thought he was going to kill me!"

"I'm surprised he didn't." Isabela said as she flicked a coin at Varric. She gave Anders an annoyed look. "You could have at least got him to break a bone. That little bit of blood cost me a sovereign!"

"Good!" said Anders petulantly. "That's what you get for betting against me." He glanced at the door the two elves had left through. "With any luck this means we won't have to resort to phase three. I don't see any of us surviving that."

"What's phase three?" asked Isabela.

"We magically seal them in a room until they talk it out." replied Varric.

"Oh. If you do that then I'm getting on the first ship back to Fereldan. I doubt Kirkwall would still be standing by the time Fenris had punished you for that."


	10. Chapter 9 Beauty in Kirkwall

Beauty in Kirkwall

"Uh, Fenris?" Merrill said tentatively as she hurried to keep up with the warrior's long strides. "The alienage is that way." She pointed out. Fenris really did have long strides; he was so tall for an elf, only an inch or two shorter than Hawke. He probably had to have his clothes made specially, for such a long, thin frame. Her internal babbling was silenced when he turned to look at her, a serious look on his handsome face. She felt herself shiver at the intensity of his gaze.

"I wish to speak with you Merrill." He said quietly, his voice deep and soothing. "And I wish to do it somewhere that Varric has no eyes or ears. I'd rather our discussion remain our own business this time." He gave her that not-quite-smile she liked, where he smiled with his eyes but his mouth seemed to think it was inappropriate.

"That sounds lovely Fenris." She said earnestly and slightly nervously. The last time she had been alone with Fenris had been wonderful, but she had been far too angry to be nervous. Looking back, she had no idea how she had managed to be so bold. And now Fenris was looking at her nervously.

"May I…take your hand?" he asked quietly. She beamed at him in response, and offered her delicate limb. Very gently, her hand was enclosed beneath a heavy metal gauntlet. His not-quite-smile became an actual one, and he led her up towards Hightown.

* * *

><p>Upon reaching Hightown, Fenris led her through the dark streets, careful to avoid any gangs that might be around. Eventually, they stopped outside an unfamiliar house, where he insisted they climb a trellis onto the roof. From there, they travelled across the rooftops of Hightown, leaping gaps and steadily climbing as they made their way further up the hill towards the Chantry. A jog turned into a run, and as they raced across the roofs of Kirkwall's elite, Merrill marvelled that no one had ever thought to use these roads before. Fenris pointed out that they were, in fact, used by messengers and thieves, although the thieves frequented them less once Fenris began using them.<p>

Eventually, they stopped, on a roof in such bad need of repair that it could only be Fenris' mansion. Gently, Fenris took her by the shoulders and turned her, to look back the way they had come.

The full moon was just rising, still quite low on the horizon, and illuminating the entire city in its silvery glow. She sat down on the edge of the roof, drinking in the sight before her.

"I never thought Kirkwall could be so beautiful." She said in awe.

"There is beauty in Kirkwall." Fenris said as he sat beside her. "You simply have to know where to look." She turned her head to look straight into his emerald eyes, so like her own. She felt herself blush at his proximity, and her nervousness returned tenfold. "I owe you an apology."

"For what? She asked frowning. "You didn't really hurt Anders, did you? Isabela said it was all a misunderstanding-" he raised a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"I need to apologise for the way I have treated you." He said slowly, and from the tightness of his jaw, she guessed he wasn't used to apologising.

"It's alright -" she began but he cut her off.

"No, it is not all right." He growled. " I have shown you nothing but hate and contempt, even though I knew I ….had come to care for you… a great deal." He took a deep breath, as though speaking of such things caused him great strain. "And even when I acted on my feelings, I did so violently, causing you pain and harm you did not deserve."

"It was hardly one-sided." She interjected with a blush. She saw a pink tinge creep into his own cheeks as he coughed awkwardly.

"Yes, well, regardless, I still acted appallingly." His eyes moved away from hers, to stare out across the skyline. "Even after what we shared, I left. I was a coward." He said bitterly, raising a hand to silence her before her denial had passed her lips. "And yet still you treat me as a friend. As someone you can trust, even though I have shown you otherwise. You did not deserve to be treated so badly. And for that, I am sorry. Can you forgive me?" his eyes turned back to hers, and at the sight of the pain and vulnerability she saw, she could not help but act. She hugged him.

She held herself tightly to his chest, and after a moment, tentative arms came to rest around her. She heard a deep rumble vibrate through his chest, and she pulled back.

"I'm sorry." She said quickly. "I know you don't really like to be touched, but I didn't really know how to say it with words –"

"How do you not hate me?" he interjected.

"Hate you? Why would I?" she asked earnestly.

"Because, as I pointed out, I have treated you appallingly, given you neither word nor gesture of kindness or friendship. And yet, it seems, you do not hate me."

"You've suffered a lot Fenris." She said seriously. "And it was because of someone…" her voice broke a little but she ploughed on. "Because of someone like me. I can understand why you might hate me for it, just like there are Dalish who hate all shemlans, even though it was their ancestors that wronged us. And when, by some miracle, you wanted me too, being with me brought back your memories then took them away again. Just like when they were taken the first time. You don't deserve my hate Fenris. I can only hope for your forgiveness." She finished quietly, fiddling with her hem again. A gentle hand lifted her chin to make her look at him, revealing tearstained cheeks.

"It wasn't you who did this to me Merrill. There is nothing to forgive." And then he leaned forward and kissed her, a light chaste kiss that tasted of her tears. He pulled back from the kiss, but left his forehead resting against hers. She took a shaky breath.

"I want to try, Merrill." He said quietly. "I want to try to make this work." He was looking straight into her eyes, his own bright with determination. "But I will need a promise." She felt dread twist with the nervousness in her stomach as she spoke.

"What must I promise?" he took one of her hands in his.

"I need you to promise me you will never again use blood magic. Not to save yourself, not to save me, not even if it would bring back all the glory of the elvhen empire." She could see the hope in his eyes, tempered by desperation. "I cannot have you only to lose you to the demons." His hands still clasped one of hers, and as she brought the other to rest over his as she made her decision.

"I promise. I would swear a blood promise if that were not itself more blood magic." She paused, taking a deep breath before saying the words she never thought he would allow her to say. "I love you Fenris."


	11. Chapter 10 A Long Answer

_A/N: Warning NSFW. Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, to whom I apologise for the short chapters, my inspiration seems to come in short bursts. I swear, I'm trying to make them longer! _

A Long Answer

Fenris stared at her for a moment. He didn't know what to say, or rather, did not know how to say it. His mind completely blank, his body answered for him. His hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her against him, their lips meeting in a sweet, lingering kiss. He felt her hands snake into his hair, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. He breathed deep, revelling in the scent of her. They stayed locked against each other until he felt her shiver against him.

"You are cold." He said as he pulled back, ignoring her whimper of protest.

"A little." She admitted. He stood up, offering her a hand and a smile. She took it, and offered a smile of her own. The sight of it caused a warmth to bloom in his chest. Maker damn him, but he lived for her smiles. He led her to the balcony, helping her down before lithely dropping down himself. He took her hand again ton lead her to the main room, marvelling internally at how her touch caused him no pain.

In the main room he urged her to sit as he stoked up the fire. She giggled as he handed her a blanket. He also decided she was giving him an unnerving, knowing look.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that." He asked. She giggled again.

"You're being adorably chivalrous. It's so sweet of you."

"Is it so strange that I wish you to be comfortable?"

"A little." She replied, and he blushed, ashamed at the truth of it. He did not have a compassionate nature. She rose from her chair and approached him by the fire. "I'm not a plant, Fenris." She said with an indulgent smile. "I won't wither and die if touched by frost." Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch.

"I know." He sighed. "It seems I am making a habit of protecting mages." He pulled her into his arms. "At least this time it is by choice." He murmured into her hair. It felt right to hold her there, encircled in his arms, safe and sound and his. He felt her head tilt up, and he lowered his mouth to hers. It started soft and sweet, as she melted into his embrace. Its intensity slowly began to rise, the kiss becoming hungry and passionate, their bodies pressed together as they panted with their need for one and other.

With a clatter, his gauntlets fell to the floor, allowing him to truly touch her as one hand curled in her hair, the other tracing down her back, over the material of her dress to grip the back of her smooth thigh as it was lifted onto his hip. He moaned as her pelvis ground against his aching arousal. He trailed kisses down her neck, hearing her gasp and moan as he nipped lightly at her tender flesh. One hand deftly unhooked the fastenings of her vest, shaking slightly as he felt a hesitant tongue flick against the sensitive shell of his ear. When her hands went for his breastplate, he grabbed her wrists, pushing them away gently.

"I think I should do that." He said huskily. "I would prefer less damage this time." She giggled shyly.

"I'm sorry; I got a bit carried away." He chuckled darkly as he placed his plate and jacket on a nearby chair.

"Considering what I did to your clothes, I believe we are even." He said as he pulled her against his now bare chest, gasping at the pleasurable hum her touch brought to his markings. She jerked back.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" she asked, her eyes brimming with concern. He pulled her back, his hand cupping her jaw as he looked her in the eye.

"Merrill." He said seriously. "Yours is the only touch I have ever known that did not bring me pain." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "In fact, your touch feels -" he pulled her hand to trace down the markings on his chin and neck. "-rather exquisite." She bit her lip, feeling herself quiver at the huskiness of his voice and the desire in his eyes. She traced her hands down the markings on his chest, enjoying the way her magic reacted to the lyrium.

Her inquisitive fingers found their way to the waistband of his breeches, and she hesitated only briefly before her slender fingers traced lightly over the outline of his hard cock. She suppressed a giggle as it twitched under her touch, and she slowly brought her fingers up to delve under the tight leather.

She marvelled at the smoothness, enjoying the pleasured sigh that escaped her lover's lips at her touch. The leather was tight, and she removed one hand to undo the laces of his leggings, freeing him. She barely noticed him bracing himself against the mantelpiece as she lowered herself for a better look. Her hands continued to rub and trace the smooth skin as she examined it, fascinated and a little alarmed to find lyrium there.

"Are you…studying me?" questioned a panting Fenris. She looked up at him cheekily.

"Maybe." She replied as one hand slid down to caress his smooth sack. She continued to look up at him even as her pink tongue flicked out to lick at his tip and he groaned. Her mouth teased him even as her hands continued to slide over his engorged length. He resisted the urge to grab her head and push, knowing that this was most likely new to her and it was best she go at her own pace.

His resolve crumbled as she took more and more of him into her mouth, lapping and sucking just the way she had read about in Varric's dirty novels. Calloused hands gripped her hair, encouraging her to take him deeper. Suddenly the hands were gone from her hair and latched onto her arms, pulling her up roughly.

"Dress off. Now." He commanded in a gravelly whisper, haphazardly assisting as she hastily pulled it over her head. His mouth found her breast as his fingers delved into her smalls, finding her delightfully wet. She moaned above him as one and then two fingers entered her, each gasp of pleasure going straight to his aching groin. He tugged her smalls down, and then gently lowered her down onto her discarded blanket, his fingers still massaging her hot, wet channel.

Trailing kisses down her abdomen, he paused to inhale her sweet, musky scent before gently lapping at her engorged nub, tasting her as his hands removed her leg coverings, the full expanse of her porcelain skin now laid bare as she writhed beneath his mouth. She moaned and cursed in elvish as his tongue plundered her depths, the pleasurable ache in her nethers building with each flick of his tongue.

"Fenris" she gasped, feeling her need become too much to bare. "Please, I need you inside" she moaned in desperation. Needing no more encouragement, he pulled himself above her, drawing her into a passionate kiss as he pushed into her tight entrance. She moaned his name again as she felt him fill her, an indescribable feeling of fulfilment washing through her as the man she loved slid into her.

As much as their first coupling had been rough and violent, their second was sweet and tender. Fenris took her in slow, measured thrusts, his mouth plundering her lips, chest and neck. Her moans filled him as she nipped and sucked at his ears and neck, her hands tracing the lyrium lines of his back.

Slowly their pleasure built to an incredible crescendo, his thrusts becoming faster and erratic. She cried out as she came, her nails digging into his back and her thighs gripping him tightly as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He followed soon after, gasping as he released into her. They lay together before the fire, panting, neither willing to let the other go.

After a time, Fenris recovered enough to carry her to the bed, where he held her curled up against his chest, a satisfied smile on her face as she fell asleep. He lay there watching her sleep, not aware of the smile on his own face. As his eyes grew heavy, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, whispering in her ear before finding sleep himself:

"I love you, Merrill."


	12. Chapter 11 Discoveries of Every Kind

Discoveries of Every Kind

The pair were rudely awoken the next morning to the sound of bellowing laughter. A startled Fenris glared at the man laughing uncontrollably in his doorway, while Merrill snatched up the blankets that had tangled at their feet.

"What is so funny Hawke?" Fenris demanded as he glowered at the human.

"Sebastian." Hawke managed to gasp out as he clutched his sides. "Should have seen his face! Maker I thought he was going to faint. I almost wish we'd caught you in the act, just to see him react. He probably would have run even faster." He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Put some trousers on Fenris and come out to the landing. We need to have a word." His jovial tone became decidedly serious as he made his request, and a dangerous look entered his eyes. He turned on his heel and left the room. Reluctantly, Fenris left Merrill's side and went in search of his leggings.

"Why would Sebastian want to faint and then run?" Merrill mused as Fenris dressed. He chuckled.

"I think it may have something to do with our state of undress when he entered the room," he replied wryly. She blushed deeply as it dawned on her what had happened. He smirked and bent down to kiss her lightly. "I'll be right back." He promised, fairly certain he knew what Hawke wished to talk about.

Hawke was leaning against the rail at the top of the stares, looking out over what had once been the mansion's ballroom. He spoke when Fenris leant beside him.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked in a soft rumble, still staring out across the ballroom.

"This was the second night we have shared a bed," he replied, choosing the most literal interpretation of the question. "The first was a few days before the Qunari attacked." Hawke turned to look at him, a slight frown on his face.

"That's nearly three seasons ago. Was there a reason for the gap?" Fenris shifted uncomfortably under his piercing silver gaze. His eyes narrowed as he read into the elf's silence. "You had…issues to work through, I take it?" Fenris nodded. "They have been resolved?" Hawke asked, his voice dripping with implications of violence at the wrong answer.

"Of course." Fenris assured him. Hawke had eighteen years' experience playing the protective big brother, and it was no secret much of his affection for Merrill stemmed from her similarities to Bethany. Having seen Hawke duel the Arishok, Fenris had no intention of inviting his wrath. Hawke was looking at him sceptically.

"Truly? You're perfectly OK with the fact she is a blood mage?"

"She and I have an accord," Fenris supplied. "Our relationship will continue as long as she keeps her word." Hawke looked at him thoughtfully.

"And you believe she will?" he asked quietly. Fenris was certain Hawke had guessed the terms of their agreement.

"I…trust her," he replied slowly.

"And if she does not?" Hawke pressed.

"I will not lose her to demons." Fenris declared, his eyes daring Hawke to object. Both men knew Fenris would kill her if she gave in to a demon. Hawke nodded in understanding before clapping the surprised elf on the shoulder, his manner once again carefree and friendly.

"Well, you two kids have fun. I'm going to go find Sebastian and save him from his prayers. I've got bandits to clear out, so if you two could meet me at the Hanged Man this afternoon, we can take care of that. Goodbye Merrill," he called towards the bedroom door, receiving muffled response. Fenris bid him farewell before crawling back into bed and into her embrace.

* * *

><p>Life quickly settled into a routine. Merrill spent her nights and most days in Hightown, returning to her home in the Alienage once or twice a week to "take care of some things". Fenris suspected she went to work on her mirror, but there was little he could do as long as she kept her promise. Most evenings were spent with the two of them in front of the fire, him sipping wine as she attempted to help him with his reading.<p>

His home began to show signs of her occupation as she steadfastly took to the task of making more than a few rooms habitable. He continually reminded her that it was unnecessary, to which she replied she quite enjoyed hunting through his 'treasure trove', as she called it. And in truth, she was finding quite a collection of useful items, including ancient grimoires, strange instruments and even gold and gems.

Anders was rather surprised one evening to see Fenris storm into his clinic, clutching something to his chest.

"Fen-" he began but was cut off when Fenris all but threw the writhing white parcel at him.

"Here," he said gruffly, "Merrill found this living in one of the lower rooms of the mansion. Consider it a token of appreciation for … opening my eyes." He turned and left. Anders looked down in wonder at the terrified white cat currently sinking its claws into his robe, its eyes, one red and one blue, looking up at him fearfully. A great deal of soothing sounds and petting got her to calm down, and a quick inspection confirmed she was, in fact, female, and around five months old. He resolved to thank Merrill profusely the next time she visited, and went in search of some milk for the newly dubbed Princess Tabitha.

As time wore on, they began to learn more, and often surprising, things about each other.

"What are you doing?" Fenris asked irritably, putting down his book. He had noticed Merrill sit down at the desk in their room, and then continual throw thoughtful glances at him as her hand flew across the paper. He gracefully unfolded himself from his chair by the fire to approach her.

"No, don't move!" she exclaimed, even as she continued to scratch at the page before her with charcoal. "I'm not done yet."

"Done with what?" Fenris asked, even as he resumed his position by the fire. He did not pick up his book, instead reaching for his wine glass.

"There!" Merrill said triumphantly as her hand finally stopped moving. Fenris got up to look over his shoulder. On the desk was a perfectly shaded sketch.

"It's me." He said bluntly. She shrugged and smiled up at him.

"Every now and then, I feel like sketching. Usually its plants or things in the Alienage, but you looked so handsome sitting in the firelight… I couldn't resist."

"You draw beautifully," he purred in her ear, pulling her up from the desk into a kiss.

* * *

><p>"Fenris?" he heard her call from somewhere in the mansion.<p>

"Merrill?" he called back, stepping away from the table where he had been making preparations for supper. He was slightly worried she might run into trouble. The mansion had been full of traps when they first entered, and while most had been dealt with, occasionally a hidden glyph or trap popped up.

"Was Danarius a musician?" Merrill asked as she entered the kitchen. "I found a whole room full of musical instruments. At least I think they're all musical, I didn't really check." She stopped rambling as he reached for the object in her hand. It was a violin, beautifully made, with strange runes carved into it. He inspected it, then placed it to his shoulder and took the bow from her other hand and drew it across the strings. Merrill watched with a fascinated expression as he played a sweet yet mournful tune, his eyes closed and his fingers dancing. She clapped enthusiastically when he finished.

"I didn't know you could play," she said as took the instrument back.

"Neither did I." he replied, a troubled look on his face. It transpired that he could also play the lute and the pipes, and Merrill would often get him to play for her in the evenings. He refused to play for anyone else.

They were happy and content, even if life was not without obstacles. They argued often and fought on occasion, but it was never anything of consequence. It would be years before anything truly rocked their foundation, threatening to destroy all they had built.

_A/N: This DID NOT want to be written! I'm not entirely happy with what I've got, but it's the closest I've come to what I want to say, now we can all move on and forget this ever happened.__ Thank you to all my reviewers, I'll do better next time, I swears!  
><em>


	13. Chapter 12 An Innocent Request

An Innocent Request

Hawkes piercing silver gaze betrayed nothing as she made her request. He spoke only to ask quiet, neutral questions, and she felt herself begin to sweat under his scrutiny. He had consented to give her the arulin'holm all those years ago, and she hoped he would be kind enough to help her once again. Hawke had been a good friend to her, even if he had made no secret he disapproved of her blood magic. But then again, so had Fenris. Thinking of him brought carefully buried waves of guilt to the surface, which she did her best to ignore.

"Does Fenris know about this?" Hawke enquired, as though he had read her thoughts. "I can't imagine he would be particularly happy with me if I killed his lover."

"No," she admitted quietly. "He wouldn't understand. He'd assume blood magic would be involved. Promise me you won't tell him?" she begged. Hawke's calculating features twisted with anger, and she knew she'd made a mistake.

"Ask me to strike a mercy blow, I would agree with a heavy heart. Ask me to lie to my friends, those I hold dearest, and you are crossing a line," he declared, his voice clipped and icy. She whimpered at the look of fury on his face, and the rogue took a deep breath to calm himself. "I know why you want to do this, as incredibly, stupidly dangerous as it is. So I will help you." His wolfish grin quelled her elation at his acceptance. "On one condition." She fought the urge to whimper again. "Fenris comes too. And you _will_ tell him what we are doing and why." He paused thoughtfully. "If anyone has the right to take your life, it's him."

Dread pulled in her stomach, and she gave in to the urge to whimper.

* * *

><p>Fenris was enjoying himself that evening. He was seated in a mildly comfortable chair at their favourite table at the Hanged Man, drinking good wine, winding up the abomination and not losing too terribly at diamondback to Isabella and Varric. Occasionally he batted the abomination's cat away as it attempted to rub up against him.<p>

His mood was spoiled slightly when Sebastian arrived, enquiring about Hawke. The Champion and the Prince had been nigh inseparable for months now, although Hawke swore their relationship was entirely chaste. Sebastian's concern brought Fenris' own worries to the surface, namely the whereabouts of his own eccentric lover.

As if summoned by the pairs concern, Hawke and Merrill chose that moment to enter the tavern. Fenris sent his Dalish love a small smile as their eyes met across the common room. She returned it hesitantly, and then quickly looked away, shadowing Hawke over to the bar. Fenris' dark eyebrows drew together in a frown, thoroughly confused by her behaviour. She didn't bound up to him the way she usually did, her eyes sparkling with excitement even after two years together.

She lingered by the bar as long as she could without making it obvious that she did not truly want to join their table. But eventually she was forced to make her way over with her drink, refusing to meet Fenris' eyes again. His concern and confusion steadily grew, and he was glad she took her customary seat beside him. She still did not look at him, and his earlier contentment was long gone.

She remained strangely quiet for the rest of the evening, all attempts to draw her into conversation failing. Hawke gave no clue as to the cause of her mood, only throwing her the occasional disapproving glance. If Fenris had not been so sure of Hawke's preferences, he would have been suspicious of the man. It was not long before Fenris grew tired of her frustrating silence, and bid his friends goodnight, almost dragging a reluctant Merrill behind him. He kept up a steady pace all the way to his mansion, keeping hold of Merrill's hand so she could not fall behind. He wanted an answer, and she would provide one, willing or not.

Once inside the mansion, he turned to face her. She cowered under his gaze, and he was a little hurt by her reaction. He had done nothing he could think of to deserve it, and he could not recall her ever being so meek in his presence. Conflict between them made her spark with anger, or spill over with fervent apologies. His Merrill did not cower, and he gently pulled her into his embrace, trying to ignore the way she flinched when he touched her.

"Tell me what is wrong" he whispered, his concern mounting as he felt her shake.

"Oh ma'vhenan," she said shakily into the crook of his neck. "I need to ask something of you." He frowned and pulled back, taking her chin in his hand to force her to look him in the eye.

"You may ask anything of me, my love," he said, his voice low and serious. "But do not hide from me." He felt her take a long shuddering breath, and took note of the worry and uncertainty in her expression. She took her time finding the courage to answer, but he was patient with her.

"I need to go back to the demon on Sundermount." She said in a rush. He pulled his hand away from her face as though burned, and took a step back, the horror he felt plainly etched across his face. "Please ma'vhenan, it's the only way I'll be able to fix the mirror," she implored him.

"You promised," he reminded her in a low growl.

"Of course, there will be no blood magic involved, I promise," she assured him fervently, "But if things go wrong, if he possesses me, I need you to strike me down."

"You are purposefully putting yourself in danger," he spat, "And you are cruel enough to ask me to take your life should you fall to your own folly?" His tone was a tapestry of emotion, ranging from disgust to despair, and he found himself wanting to shake some sense into her.

"I asked Hawke to do it this afternoon," she admitted. "But he refused to do it without your permission." Somehow the fact that she had gone to Hawke first made it hurt even worse, and he was fighting a losing battle with his temper.

"And if your pet demon," he asked venomously, "tells you to use more blood magic? What then?"

"I don't know." She admitted unhappily. He just stared at her for a moment, his face indecipherable. She opened her mouth to implore him further, but her turned and stormed out before she could utter another word. She began to sob, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though her body was about to fly apart. She trudged up the stairs to their room to curl up on the bed and wait for him. He did not come home that night.


	14. Chapter 13 Risking It All

Risking It all

It began to rain, cold and heavy, perhaps an hour after he left Kirkwall. He barely noticed it, as he trudged through the mud and the darkness along the Wounded Coast. He had travelled here often enough in Hawke's company that he would not lose his way, the hulking form of Sundermount looming ahead, a silent sentinel watching his approach.

He did not know how long it took him to reach the camp, and it was most likely past midnight by the time he saw the lanterns of the Dalish winking ahead of him. Even as he had marched on, his mind had been elsewhere, scattered and twisted, as thought and feeling alike left him in frustration and torment.

Marethari stood in the doorway to her aravel, the only one of the Dalish landships fitted as a caravan. He made his way around the tents of sleeping dales towards her, unsure how he felt about the fact that she obviously expected him.

Once within, he was wordlessly offered a towel to dry him and a cup of hot tea. He took both gratefully, sitting opposite the Keeper at the small table in the centre of the cramped space.

"I confess, I am surprised to see you here after so long." Marethari said in her quiet, measured tone. "I had hoped that Merrill had found some measure of happiness with you, enough to make her forget the Eluvian." Fenris would have snorted if his current predicament had not drained him of humour.

"Nothing short of death could make her forget that blighted mirror," he replied bitterly. He paused briefly, and then looked the Keeper in the eye as he spoke. "She is going back to her demon." Marethari regarded her young guest for a moment, and he clearly saw her weariness and concern in her withered features. At length, a sigh escaped her.

"Of course she is. Merrill was never one to give up simply because a task was difficult. And she is resourceful, to a fault it seems." The ghost of a smile played on her lips. "It is one of the reasons I chose her to be my First."

"What will you do?" asked Fenris.

"I will do what I have always done. I will do what I can to guide her away from this path. And I can pray that you might succeed, should I fail, else I must force her to understand the true consequences of her actions, and what she is risking." Fenris frowned, not sure he understood her meaning. Marethari stood, and gestured him towards the door. "Come child, I shall find a place for you to rest tonight. Tomorrow she shall arrive, and we will both do what we must."

* * *

><p>Anders had never seen Merrill so quiet. Even his attempts to change her mind had only yielded bitter sarcastic responses that were even more unlike her. When he'd asked what Fenris thought of this she had simply walked away, refusing to answer. Her aura of grim determination was most likely covering a storm of emotional turmoil, and Anders was privately astonished at how much she'd matured in the last few years. When he'd arrived at Hawke's mansion that morning, she was standing with Hawke in the foyer; the red of her eyes the clue that she'd been crying. It seemed a little of Fenris' stoicism had rubbed off on her.<p>

It was with some surprise and a lot of apprehension that they came upon Fenris, sitting on a rock near the mountain path, honing his monstrous sword with a whetstone. The Dalish all gave him a wide berth, eyeing him apprehensively.

"You are late," he observed.

"I wasn't aware we were on your schedule," Hawke said archly, and then turned to look pointedly at Merrill. "In fact, I was led to believe that you refused to join us."

"I changed my mind." Fenris had not so much as glanced at Merrill since they had arrived. Anders watched Merrill's determined mask fall as she approached her lover.

"Fenris, I –" she began before he cut her off.

"Don't," he growled. "I don't wish to hear it." He turned away from her and sheathed his sword, striding up the path without looking back to see them follow.

* * *

><p>Fenris did not speak as they climbed the mountain. It wasn't until Merrill stepped into the cave at the summit that he grabbed he arm. She looked up at him, her eyes fearful.<p>

"Please," he begged. "Don't do this." Her eyes became sad, and he knew her answer before she spoke it.

"I have to."

"Then the consequences are on your head." He replied, letting go. He was not surprised to find the Keeper inside, nor was he surprised by her plan. Merrill had to be made to see just how dangerous and stupid her actions were. For that lesson, and for Merrill, Marethari was willing to give her life. He watched impassively as Merrill took the possessed Keeper's life, but as she began to lament and wail about what Marethari had done, he could not contain his anger, and began to shout at her.

"You are so blinded by your idiotic mission to fix that damned mirror; you cannot see it is those that care about you that must pay the price! First Tamlen, then Mahariel, now Marethari. How long will you blindly carry on before it's my turn? Would you truly give up everything you hold dear for the memory of a broken empire that your mirror _might_ provide?"

"I'm not the only one chasing memories." Merrill shot back, her anger flaring even as tears streamed down her face. "Did you think I didn't know you'd found your sister? You're risking exposing yourself to Danarius all for the sake of your past. I may be risking everything, but at least I am honest about it!"

"Honest? You went to Hawke behind my back!"

"I was going to tell you once he had agreed."

"Only so you could hide behind his skirts if I got angry."

"Because I knew you wouldn't understand!"

"Because it's Maker-blighted suicide!"

"It was a precaution; if the Keeper hadn't interfered it would never have come to this!"

"No, it would have come to your pet demon entering this world and slaughtering you, not here where I might protect you, but in your house, all alone, and a horror would have been unleashed on us all." His voice became cold and unforgiving as he made his final accusation. "We all warned you, time and again, but you would not listen. Now the keeper is dead, and she died for_ you!_ It is you fault she is dead, no one else's." He turned away from her horrified face and strode from the cave, shoving his way through the crowd of Dalish at its entrance, and made his way back to Kirkwall.

* * *

><p>Merrill sat alone at a table in the Hanged Man, waiting for Varric to return from his errand with Hawke, absently twirling a shard of glass between her fingers. It was the original shard of the Eluvian that she had picked up in the Brecilian Forest all those years ago and it was all that was left of the mirror after she had shattered it and thrown the pieces into the sea. She had intended to show this piece to Fenris, to prove that she had given up on the mirror, and destroyed it the moment she returned from Sundermount. But that was two weeks ago, and she had yet to find the courage to make the walk up to Hightown.<p>

She heard Varric's familiar voice, and looked up to see him strolling into the tavern along with Hawke, Anders….and Fenris. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest, but Fenris wasn't looking at her. His gaze was locked on a redheaded elf seated near the stairs. The woman got to her feet as Fenris approached, and Merrill watched, mesmerised, as the two spoke, and Fenris finally learnt his name.

But the girl had a strange expression on her face, the sort one wears when they come bearing bad news. It gave Merrill a bad feeling, and so she gathered her courage and her staff, and quietly walked up behind the group to join them. Hawke and Varric gave her questioning looks, and Anders gave her a small encouraging smile, but Fenris didn't notice her at all. His attention was focused on the elderly mage descending the stairs.

Merrill felt anger and hate bubble up within her as it became apparent who the mage was and what Varania, Fenris' own sister, had done. Her rage built further as the vile magister spoke, and her previous nerves were long forgotten.

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone." She declared through clenched teeth when Danarius insinuated Hawke was Fenris' master. Fenris' head whipped around at the sound of her voice, obviously shocked to see her there.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" the magister mocked. "The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

"Shut your mouth, Danarius" Fenris growled, his markings flaring, a cue for Hawke's company to draw their weapons.

"The word is Master!" Danarius spat as his own soldiers stepped forward into battle.

Merrill was more than happy to give them a fight, her anger driving her to unheard of levels of brutality. Vines sprang through the floorboards to impale enemies and tear them to pieces. Soldiers and shades alike were petrified and shattered with lightning bolts or boulders. Her staff blurred through the air as limbs were cleft from bodies and heads from shoulders.

Danarius teleported away from where Fenris had engaged him, reappearing just to Merrill's left. She grinned as she attacked him, not wasting time with spells but landing blow after blow with her staff as Danarius only just managed to block her strikes, obviously slower and weaker than her, unused to physical battle. She was almost playing with him now, slicing here, nicking there, watching as his blood coated his fine robes. Soon he was cowering on the floor as she beat him relentlessly with the blunt end of her staff, until a hand on her shoulder made her turn.

Fenris' face was cold as he gently pushed her aside and strode forward, thrusting his hand into the broken mage's throat, declaring his freedom as he crushed Danarius' throat, standing over him as blood filled his lungs and the Magister drowned in his own blood. And then he turned on Varania.

Merrill didn't really hear the words exchanged. All she could think about was how Varania had betrayed him, her own flesh and blood. Her raging thoughts were murderous, and so, it seemed, were Hawke's, for he refused to defend her. Merrill could only guess what Hawke, a man who valued family above all else, thought of Varania's actions. She didn't even flinch when Fenris crushed his sister's heart, and unconsciously took a step closer to him.

"I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging." Fenris said quietly. "I was wrong. I am alone."

"You have friends Fenris." Hawke pointed out.

"And you have family." Merrill declared, stepping forward and lightly tossing the shard of mirror at Fenris' feet. "It's the last piece of the mirror. I threw the rest in the ocean." She looked him in the eye as she spoke, refusing to let her fear get the better of her. "I thought you might like to do the honors?" she suggested finally, her voice shaking only slightly.

Fenris looked at her for a moment, then at the glass at his feet. She bit her lip when he drew his sword, but he gave her a small half-smile, before plunging it into the shard. She flung herself at him, hugging him with all her might, his throaty chuckle like honey in her ears as she was enveloped in his arms.


	15. Chapter 14 Victory at a Cost

Victory at a Cost

Merrill gently brushed a silver lock from Fenris' creased brow. The dusky elf groaned in his sleep, evidence that the pain of his injury was intense enough to pierce the heavy sleep spell she had placed him under. She once again checked his bandages. The linen was pristine, the lack of blood the only evidence that he'd been force-fed the last three health potions Hawke had. The bandages covered most of his upper torso, binding a deep gash from shoulder to hip. Merrill shivered at the memory of that cut.

_Merrill hastily wiped the sweat from her brow as the grotesque living statue finally collapsed in a heap before her. She did not have time to rest her aching limbs, darting off instead to help Aveline and Donnic finish off another, many-legged statue. _

_The battlefield was chaos; Meredith's insane shrieking the only discernable sound over the clash of metal and the grind of the statues. A flash of white at the corner of her eye told her Fenris was fine, flitting across the battlefield with one foot in the fade. Another statue drew her attention, and she gathered her mana to cast a lightening storm, when out of nowhere, Meredith was before her, sword raised. She tried in vain to redirect her mana, to change the spell or its trajectory, but she was too committed. The statue went down in a mass of sparks, and Merrill could only stare, frozen, as Meredith swung her sword down to sever her in two. _

_But the blow never came. There was an incredible clang as Meredith's sword came down on a heavily enchanted greatsword, blocking the downstrike inches from Fenris' face. The insane templar and the former slave stood locked for a moment, before breaking apart, only to clash together once more, in a duel ignored by their otherwise occupied allies. Even Merrill could only help a little, distracted as she was by another statue trying to break her in half._

_Once her adversary was destroyed, the elven mage frantically searched the battlefield for her lover. He was staggering, stunned, while Aveline engaged Meredith. But in a moment when Aveline was knocked off balance, Meredith turned and hit Fenris with a strike that knocked him back across the courtyard, blood pouring from the slice in his armour. _

_Merrill ran to him, screaming for Anders, for Bethany, falling at his side when Meredith sent a wave of energy across the field stunning most of their allies. Merrill fought through the haze, dragging a health potion from her belt to his lips, terrified by the sheer amount of blood pooling around him. _

_She did not look up as the indomitable Aveline continued to batter at the insane templar, not when Hawke delivered the final backstab, not when she screamed in agony as she was turned to stone. It was only when an exhausted Bethany knelt next to her, potion in hand, that she tore her eyes from her lover to beg the other mage to heal him. Bethany only shook her head, too drained to even speak. Merrill reached for a mana potion that wasn't there, used up long ago. She broke down, crying over the prone body before her._

Merrill trailed a hand lightly over her lover's face, reassuring herself he was still there, even if he was unconscious. Bethany was in the other bed in the cabin, having passed out from exhaustion before she'd even finished bandaging Fenris.

With a last kiss to Fenris' forehead, she made herself leave the room.

The motion of the ship made walking difficult at first, and exhausted as she was, she almost had to clutch the walls to make it down the hallway. As she passed a door, shouts from within caused her to stop a moment, entirely unconcerned by the fact she was eavesdropping.

"You were there, Sebastian! You warned her, I warned her, an agent of the Divine herself warned her! Grand Cleric Elthina knew she was in danger, and chose to stay and tend her flock anyway."

"Only because she believed no one would be foolhardy enough to actually attack her!"

"Then it was her own hubris that got her killed."

"What got her killed is that monster in the brig!"

"That _monster_ will be dealt with. But we both know Justice is responsible for this, not Anders."

"How can you defend him after all he's done?"

"All he has done is fight for the rights of his fellows, for people like my sister, to be free. All he has done is heal any poor soul he came across, including your ungrateful arse, and demanded nothing in return. All he has done is been my friend. He is my brother-in-arms, and I'll be damned if I'm going to lose another brother."

"You've already lost him to that demon." Sebastian's voice became quiet, almost tender. "Please, my love. He must be brought to justice."

"More death is not justice. Elthina tried to teach you that. As long as I breathe, I will protect Anders. But I will do everything in my power to free him from that spirit. I'm sorry, love, but I can't … I can't lose another one."

Merrill moved on at that point, as the sounds behind the door moved to tender reassurances. She wove further into the bowels of the ship, heading for the darkest, most foul smelling area, knowing that was where they'd most likely thrown him.

Anders sat on a crate in his cell, his wrists cuffed and fastened to the wall by a thick chain. Merrill had been surprised to know Isabella had mana-draining cuffs on her ship, until the pirate pointed out the ship had once belonged to a slaver. Anders' face was obscure by a curtain of dirty blonde hair, having lost his hair-tie in the battle. He didn't look up when she entered his cell.

"Oh Anders," Merrill crooned as she knelt before him. "What has he done to you?" Anders barked a harsh and humourless laugh.

"I did this to myself Merrill. Make no mistake about that." Merrill put her hands on her hips as she chastised him.

"My friend Anders is one of the kindest, most selfless people in all of Thedas. The man who blew up the chantry, who wanted to die, that's not him. That's the man Justice made him." She paused for a moment. "Or is it Vengeance now?"

Anders looked up at her finally, his sunken eyes red-rimmed and tortured.

"I don't know," he whispered, his voice a harsh whisper. "But it's strange. After the chantry blew up, it's almost like he's asleep. My thoughts are all my own for the first time in years…oh Maker…I've condemned so many to death."

"In the name of freedom," Merrill agreed. "You wanted a war. You wanted to fight for mage rights. But when you fight, even when it's for a noble cause, people die. People, who never wanted to fight, die. But our people have been dying for what they are for a long time. You were right, Anders. It has to stop."

"But not like this," Anders muttered. "What am I going to do, Merrill? I never planned this far ahead. He wasn't supposed to let me live." Merrill chuckled at that.

"Are you sure you've met Hawke? That man would take on the Dread Wolf himself if it meant keeping those he cares about safe." Anders chuckled as well, although weakly.

"You have a point."

"Is that a smile I see there?" Merrill teased. "It's tiny, but it's there. Is that the Anders I know under there? Thank the Creators, he _is_ alive." Anders shook his head at her, even as a smile played on his lips.

"I swear only you could make me smile at a time like this. Thank you."

"Anything to have my Anders back. He's much more fun."

"How is Fenris?"

"He's…stable. Bethany was too exhausted to heal him, so he's bandaged up until she wakes. I asked Hawke to let you heal him, but Sebastian was still really angry you're alive, and the only way to calm him down was to promise you wouldn't leave to brig. He's being very selfish today, but Hawke is talking him around."

"If there is one thing Hawke can do, it's talk Sebastian around. Do you remember the day we walked in on them?" Anders said with a chuckle.

"Mythal, how could I forget?" Merrill exclaimed as her cheeks flamed. "But really, it's their own fault for doing that sort of thing in the kitchen." The thought brought another in mind, and Merrill sobered suddenly, looking down as she spoke quietly. "I lost another one Anders. And I still haven't told Fenris."

"Oh Merrill, why didn't you tell me sooner? You should have come to my clinic as soon as you knew. We might have prevented it."

"I couldn't Anders." She whispered, grief in her voice. "I couldn't get my hopes up again. Not again. What's wrong with me Anders?" Tears spilled out onto her cheeks. Anders looked at her for a long moment, compassion written on his haggard features.

"I think it's the lyrium," he said finally. "If it's somehow passed into his seed, then it would be like the infant is going through the procedure that he went through. It's the only thing I can think of that explains three consecutive miscarriages. You're perfectly healthy, obviously fertile. It seems that this is just something else Danarius has taken away from him. I'm sorry Merrill."

"Damn right you're sorry." Hawke growled as he entered the cell. He stepped up to Anders and promptly punched him in the face. "I put my life, the lives of my family and friends and my relationship on the line for you tonight. If you pull any bullshit like this again, I'll rip you to pieces myself."

"Duly noted," Anders replied weakly as he wiped blood from his mouth, an awkward motion due to his handcuffed state. "And for what it's worth….thanks."

"Yeah, well I couldn't let you get killed over your own stupidity. Who would be there to heal me when I got hurt being stupid myself?"

"Um Hawke?" Merrill piped in. Hawke started, apparently having forgotten she was there.

"Right, Fenris. Get up Anders, there's a broody elf upstairs just begging for those skilled hands of yours." Hawke said as he removed the cuffs.

"More likely he's begging to put a hand through my chest." Anders grumbled as he rubbed his wrists. "And won't Sebastian get upset?"

"I've handled him. Just try to avoid him until we get to Amaranthine."

"Amaranthine?" Anders asked suspiciously.

"Beth says the Warden Commander has a mage friend in a similar predicament to you who may have discovered a way to separate you and your passenger. So yes, we're going to Vigil's Keep, and no you don't have a choice. Don't worry; I won't let the Commander steal you away."

"It's not her; it's her lieutenant I'm worried about."

_A/N: I honestly thought I was done with this, but Merrill has made herself happily at home in my head. So until she stops chattering at me, I guess I'll just have to keep writing. Updates will most likely be slow though, life has been getting in my way lately._


	16. Chapter 15 Finding A Friend

Finding a Friend

It was a week into the voyage when Fenris woke suddenly in the night, pulled from sleep by the struggles and throes of his sleeping lover. It was not the first time this had happened in their time together, and Fenris was gentle as he woke her with soothing whispers and soft shaking. Her brilliant green eyes flew of open even as her last defiant refusal escaped her lips. She shuddered for a moment, taking in the now familiar surroundings of the cramped cabin.

Fenris wordlessly drew her into his arms as she continued to shake from her nightmare, the demons words still fresh in her mind. Every word had been a lie, but the temptation was still there, and she knew full well it was due to the elf currently holding her that she had not succumbed to the demons once more. But the ache and the despair that had filled her as each of her children had died inside her had taken hold, growing and eating away at her, making the demons promises all the more tempting. She kissed her lovers chest as he cradled her, tears rolling off her cheeks to splash onto his skin. He began to hum softly into her hair, an old Arcanum lullaby that was the only memory he had of his mother's voice. It always soothed her, and soon she slept peacefully once more. Fenris did not.

Clad only in his breeches and a light cotton shirt, he silently left the room, needing no light to see in the gloom of the ship. He stepped out into the predawn grey, the wind tugging and teasing at his snowy locks as he moved to lean against the rail. Below him the sea churned, dull and sluggishly tempestuous in the wake of the ship. Fenris was ignored by the sparse crewmembers, going about their business as though the elf had not intruded on their morning routine. He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in the feel of wind on his face and the scent of salt in his nostrils.

The rail creaked as another's weight was added to it, and Fenris glanced to his side to see Anders gazing moodily out across the ocean just as he had been. A couple of days after healing Fenris, Sebastian had grudgingly admitted that the apostate had nowhere to run on the ship, and Anders had been permitted to leave the brig and was allowed to share a cabin with Varric. The mage still rather prudently avoided the angry prince.

Fenris was unsure how he felt about the mage's casual proximity. Over the years the two had formed a grudging truce, and Fenris had to admit that the apostate had been a reliable …associate over the years. Fenris wouldn't call him a friend… but if he was honest with himself, the mage was at least tolerable, which was as close to a friend as any mage could be to Fenris, with the exception of a certain Dalish mage. Anders' current display of relative comfort at such proximity to the prickly elf was evidence enough that the two men had come a long way.

Without a word, Anders offered him a small silver flask. Fenris took it, taking a swig and swilling the contents about his mouth before he swallowed. He took another pull before handing it back.

"I thought Justice didn't let you drink," he commented with only a hint of reproach in his tone. Anders grunted as he took a pull from the flask.

"The crabby bastard can't exactly complain," he replied. "Not when I'm wearing these." He gestured to the ornate manacles decorating his wrists. They were no longer chained together, looking more like an elaborate fashion accessory, the sort of thing Anders might have worn in the days before Justice. Anders smirked bitterly at the irony of the mana draining cuffs keeping Justice subdued being aesthetically pleasing. Justice had always pushed him to ignore aesthetics and focus on practicality. He'd have should have thought of this years ago, when he first realised he was loosing his sanity to the spirit.

"Why are you out here so early?" Fenris asked as he took the flask. Anders realised idly that this was one of the most pleasant conversations he'd ever had with the elf. He wondered if this was more of Merrill's influence, her presence having already significantly mellowed him over the years.

"I like being out in the elements," he replied. "After growing up in the tower and then being in Darktown so long… it's refreshing to remind myself I'm still free. Why I fight for others to be free."

"That is…understandable." Fenris said quietly. They stood together in silence for a moment, both men a little unnerved by the strange understanding between them. Anders' wondering thoughts led him to break the silence.

"How is Merrill?" he asked quietly. Fenris gave him a quizzical look for a moment, as if trying to discern how Anders might know there was something wrong with Merrill.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "She woke me earlier, demons hounding her in the fade. She always refuses them, but…" Fenris did not need to continue, his worry clearly etched across his face.

"Has this happened before?" Anders probed gently.

"Perhaps a dozen times over the past two years. What worries me is most have been in the last year… it is becoming more frequent."

"I see," Anders mused, as he thought back on the day Merrill had rushed into his clinic, her face glowing as she bounced with excitement. It had been around a year into her relationship with Fenris, and when Anders confirmed her pregnancy, he had cautioned her against telling Fenris, telling her it was not uncommon for pregnancies to fail in the first three months, especially if it was a first pregnancy. When she had returned a week later to cling to him and cry as she told him of her miscarriage, he had spent most of the day consoling her. She had been subdued but still hopeful the second time, a few months later, when he once again confirmed her pregnancy. When the first stomach pains had begun, she had rushed to his clinic, but it was too late. An urchin had run into his clinic, tugging on Anders robe and babbling about an elf lady covered in blood. Anders had followed him to find Merrill curled in a ball under some stairs, surrounded by a pool of blood. He had cleaned her up and carried her home to Fenris. Fenris had been suspicious, but Merrill assured him she had slipped and hurt herself in Darktown. Grudgingly, he had accepted her explanation, and awkwardly thanked Anders for bringing her home. Anders was certain the frequency of Merrill's nightmares was because of the loss she had suffered, and for some reason chosen to bear alone.

"Fenris, what would you do if Merrill fell pregnant?" he broached carefully. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him, before giving a gruff reply.

"She won't. It is part of the curse Danarius inflicted on me." He practically spat out the hated magister's name. "He said because of the lyrium in my blood, I will never father any children." Anders chewed his lip for a moment as he processed that. It was likely Danarius had not meant that Fenris was sterile, but that no child of his would survive, something even crueler than what Fenris had assumed.

"Have you told Merrill?" Anders asked tentatively.

"How can I?" Fenris said with a sigh. "Merrill devoted her life to her people. How can I tell her that she will never be able to continue her line, that another piece of the Dalish will die with her? If she asks, then I will tell her. But not sooner. I will save her from that loss as long as possible." Anders marvelled internally at just how stubborn the two elves were, both fighting so hard to keep the other from suffering that they were doing more harm in the process. Anders bit his tongue, knowing it was not his place to tell Fenris what Merrill had gone through. It didn't help that every contraceptive concoction he had mixed for Merrill had apparently been ineffectual, no doubt another perverse side effect of Fenris' markings.

He shook his head and wondered how in the Maker's name he, of all people, had wound up in the middle of this. He felt a stab guilt, knowing that his earlier preoccupation with Justice and the chantry had prevented him from being there for his friends. It added to the melting pot of guilt and regret that was his mind these days, just one more thing he had to atone for.

_A/N: Sweet Maker, when did this get so gloomy? And when did Anders become such an important character? This story really has a nasty habit of completely ignoring my original plot and doing it's own thing. Poor Merrill, I wasn't going to be this mean, I swears! Stubborn elves are stubborn, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel…I hope._


	17. Chapter 16 A Warden's Return

A Warden's Return

It was fascinating to watch, this elaborate dance between the two wardens every time they both graced the deck. Merrill knew little of their history, only that Anders had received a letter or two from the taciturn rogue, and had been relieved beyond measure at the news Nathaniel had been successfully rescued from the deep roads. She perched on the rail near the bow of the ship, watching as Nathaniel spoke to Isabella at the stern, casting surreptitious glances at the apostate mage as he engaged in an extensive conversation about scurvy with a pair of sailors near the main mast. Their respective conversations would end, and each man would drift, one along the portside, the other on the starboard side, always managing to be on opposite ends of the deck, casting glances but never meeting the other's eyes.

Merrill busied her self wondering just what it was keeping them apart, and why it was so important. She liked to imagine that exotic Antivan music she'd heard once playing as they skilfully danced around each other. She hummed it as she watched, startling slightly when a heavily accented voice began to sing softly beside her, for the song she knew was a common one in Antiva, and Zevran had danced to it's many variations often, but the words always remained the same. A story of passion, hungry and volatile, consuming two lovers completely, until they had destroyed all they once held dear.

"Delightful, isn't it?" Zevran asked as he reached the song's end. "The tension between those two is almost palpable, no?"

"I wish I knew what happened between them." Merrill mused. "As it is I can't decide if it's sweet or sad."

"A generous mix of both, I think," he looked at her, amber eyes meeting emerald, and seeing far more than was comfortable. "But you of all people should know a … tempestuous romance when you see one." She felt her cheeks flush at the comment, although it made sense now she thought about it. Anders had run to Kirkwall from Amaranthine, where he and Nathaniel had been wardens together. If he had left Nathaniel behind, it was no wonder their enforced reunion was more than a touch strained. She watched as they carefully avoided each other, both reluctant to leave the deck, but never acknowledging the other. She agreed it was both sad and sweet the way both men clearly still loved the other, and yet the shadow of Anders' betrayal kept them apart.

A flash of silver in the corner of her eye signalled the arrival of her own lover, and a smile lit up her face. Fenris turned about, searching for her, until his eyes came to rest on her crouched form on the rail. His eyebrows rose as he took in her precarious position, then fell into a frown as he took in the sight of the lounging antivan keeping Merrill company. Zevran smirked at that, before casually strolling away.

* * *

><p>A week later they docked in the early morning at the bustling port of Amaranthine, many of the passengers roused from their slumber by the voices of boisterous dockworkers beginning their day. Anders hadn't slept, far too nervous at what his return might involve to sleep. He stood at the bow with one hand on the rail, his bag of meagre possessions at his feet. Princess Tabitha sat on his shoulder watching all the activity with great interest, her mismatched eyes flicking from dockworker to sailor as the ship was secured to the dock. She was the first to notice the arrival of four rather mismatched individuals as they strode towards the pier.<p>

"Tabby? What -?" Anders spluttered as she leapt from his shoulders onto a thick rope leading to the dock, before racing to approach the plump ginger tom that was eyeing her speculatively. "Pounce!" Anders cried jubilantly, before his eyes slid up to the faces of the pair standing either side of his cats.

Sigrun's ever-present smile widened as she waved to him enthusiastically. She'd grown her hair since he'd seen her last; wearing it pulled back in a braid that someone had woven daisies into. Velanna stood aloof as ever, her arms folded and her usual scowl fixed firmly in place. Behind them both, the lumbering figure of a golem eyed the two cats wearily, as though expecting them to attack at any moment.

"Oh is that Ser Pounce-a-lot?" Merrill said from Anders', startling him. "Oh he is adorable! And look, Tabitha likes him, you might have kittens soon. Could I have one? I've always loved kittens, although I'm not sure Fenris would be too happy about, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind once he got used to the idea. Is that a real golem?" Anders couldn't help but smile at Merrill's wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"Yes that's a golem. Her name is Shale, and whatever you do, don't mention birds around her."

"Why not? Doesn't she like birds?"

"No she does not, and the detail she goes into when she talks about killing them is more than a bit disturbing."

In time, the party disembarked, and Anders found himself the recipient of a fierce hug from Sigrun, before she pulled him by the ear to her level and smacked him upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" he grumbled.

"That was for deserting, pissing off the Commander, killing those templars and recruits, leaving us without a healer, leaving Nathaniel and never writing me!" she replied, rattling each reason off without the smile leaving her face. "Its good to see you Sparkle-Fingers."

"Sparkle-Fingers?" Hawke asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ohgren called me that once and it kind of stuck." Anders replied with a sigh.

"It is the one that amasses the small furred animals. It should separate them before they make more." Shale ground out. Anders promptly picked up Pounce to cuddle him, speaking gibberish to him in soothing tones.

"Right, I take it you were sent to escort us?" Nathaniel asked briskly, eager to get moving. Velanna seemed to echo the sentiment, as she responded immediately.

"Yes, we arrived yesterday, and the Commander supplied us with six horses and a wagon. She said to tell you she received your message, and Anders' friends," she paused and levelled a disdainful look at the assembled party. "are all welcome at the Vigil until this mess has been taken care of."

"Thank you Velanna. We had best leave soon, If we wish to see the Vigil before nightfall."

* * *

><p>The sun had just fallen behind the distant hills when the party entered the courtyard of Vigil's Keep. Horses were handed to stable hands to be tended and the cart was relieved of it's stiff burden, each taking the time to stretch and rub sore spots as Nathaniel sent a guard to summon the commander. Anders was busily trying to remove the creases in his robe when he heard a hush in banter around him, signalling the Commander's arrival. He turned and caught a flash of her flaming red hair before her fist connected with his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Strong fingers grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his hazel eyes to meet her silver ones. A part of his mind that wasn't terrified noticed that she had the same eyes as Hawke.<p>

"I seem to recall standing in this very courtyard and giving you a choice. I also seem to recall a snivelling pathetic excuse for a mage telling me no, he didn't want to go to sodding Weisshaupt, never mind the fact that his ability to speak Anderfellan would have been sodding useful, no he wanted to stay and sulk because of some fight he'd had with his boyfriend. We get back and lo and be-sodding-hold everything's turned to shit and I've lost two of my most valued wardens. Do know what the lesson here is?" She had spoken in a pleasant, conversational tone but her fury was clear in her eyes.

"Don't say no to the boss?" Anders ventured quietly.

"Don't say no to the boss." Vivenka agreed. "Heres hoping you remember that next time." She released his face, allowing him to stand and massage his jaw. Her gaze ran over the assembled party, before coming to rest on the white haired rogue watching her closely. "You must be Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. I hear you're quite capable." She said conversationally.

"And you must be Vivenka Brosca, Hero of Fereldan, Saviour of Amaranthine and Paragon. I hear you're a living legend." Hawke replied mildly. Vivenka chuckled.

"Yes, people always seem disappointed that I'm not ten feet tall and shooting lightening out my arse."

"I see the tales of your beauty were not at all exaggerated. Varric Tethras, at your service." Varric said with a flourish, giving the Commander a kiss on the knuckle as he finished his introduction.

"Tone it down Varric, I think I see Bianca turning green with envy." Isabella joked as she pushed Varric aside to embrace Vivenka.

"Isabella! It's been a while. I heard the workers at the Pearl have missed you terribly."

"Alas, they shall have to remain disappointed. My attentions have been thoroughly captured these days." Isabella replied with a wink in Bethany's direction.

"So I see. Come in, all of you, and we can finish our introductions over a hot meal."

Anders lagged behind as they filed into the keep, until he stood alone in the courtyard, the newly risen moon battling the last of the sun's rays to light the keep with a soft glow. A breeze ruffled his hair, and off in the distance an animal howled. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he breathed deep, taking in the sent of the keep and surrounding farmland. A strange light feeling washed over him.

"Welcome home" a deep voice said behind him, quiet and neutral. Anders turned to look at Nathaniel. They stood, eyeing eachother, neither sure of what to say. Finally, Anders screwed up his courage.

"Do you want to talk?"


	18. Chapter 17 Old Friends and Favours Owed

Old Friends and Favours Owed

Dinner was a rambunctious affair. Hawke's group had been joined at their table by the senior wardens, and many had found the conversation flowing easily as they got to know Vivenka's wardens. Merrill and Velanna were inseparable, reminiscing about their clans and their training as Firsts. Isabella had been there before, and had a grand time renewing old acquaintances, while Varric had roped Zevran, Ohgren and Sigrun into giving him their versions of the Commanders adventures. Vivenka herself was deep in conversation with Wynne, Hawke and Sebastian about the recent events in Kirkwall. Fenris sat quietly next to Merrill as she chatted with Velanna, observing all the conversations around him, a habit he had picked up from his time as a slave.

The person he paid attention to most was Wynne. According to Bethany, the frail old mage was possessed by a fade spirit, much as Anders was, and that spirit was keeping her alive. Fenris was unsure how he felt about that. By all accounts, Wynne had been possessed even longer than Anders had, and yet had not suffered the slow corruption that he had. It was possible that this spirit was simply not capable of being corrupted, or Wynne herself was not a corrupting force, but Fenris still did not trust her. She was a mage, and apparently an abomination, and that made him very uneasy. Anders and Nathaniel arrived towards the end of the meal, to the sound of whistles and catcalls, courtesy of Zevran and Isabella. Once the two wardens had eaten, Vivenka suggested their group retire to her quarters, where they could discuss the reason for their visit.

Upon entering the Warden-Commander's spacious quarters, the dwarven leader was accosted by a small child with raven hair and silver eyes, a girl of at least six years who insisted on knowing who everyone was and what was happening. Her effervescent enthusiasm and childish charm reminded Fenris of Merrill, and he couldn't help but smile at the girl when it was his turn to be introduced. He was startled when her expression became sad as she looked at his markings, and her words to her mother startled him even more.

"They're so pretty Mama. How can something that hurts so much be so pretty?" Her mother frowned, obviously unnerved by her words.

"They are made of lyrium, Leska. Lyrium is bad for you if it gets under your skin." The child nodded gravely, accepting the explanation, and then suddenly hugged the shocked elf.

"It's OK Fenris, sometimes I hurt too." Unsure how to react to her sudden display of affection and compassion, he patted her back awkwardly.

"I grown accustomed to the pain. It is no matter," he assured her, and he beamed up at him in response.

"Oh you two look so adorable together," Merrill crooned, and Fenris felt a pained look flash across his face. Leska immediately let go of Fenris and latched on to Merrill.

"Don't be sad Merrill, I made it better," she assured the confused mage.

"Well that's very kind of you Leska, but I'm not sure what you mean."

"I am well aware of the captivating power of my daughter's cuteness, but I believe there was something we came here to discuss?" Vivenka cut in. "And you, little miss, should be in bed. Now off you go. And don't wake your brother." With an adorable pout and a wave, Leska departed.

"My apologies, Hawke. She doesn't sleep well when her father is away, and usually I don't mind her reading in my study while I work, but tonight we have business to attend to."

"Where is her father?" Anders asked. "If you don't mind me asking." Vivenka chuckled, aware there was no love lost between her husband and Anders.

"Loghain is in Gwaren, dealing with a corrupt seneschal. The crown has yet to appoint a new teyrn, so until they do, such matters technically fall to Anora, who then just tells her father to take care of it. I don't mind, as long as he's not gone too long. So don't worry Anders, in theory you'll be free and clear before he gets back."

"Thanks," he replied drily.

"Back to the matter at hand, Wynne came across an interesting book while in Tevinter." The old mage nodded, and picked up the tome in question from the desk to address the group.

"It appears to be the detailed account of a magister's attempts to understand fade spirits. One of his experiments involved having a spirit possess a slave." She grimaced in distaste at the notion. "He wished to know what the slave experienced during the possession, and devised a ritual to separate the two once they had been joined for a time. He used lyrium, to both fuel the spell and distract the spirit, then had another mage entire the fade to separate the two. Unfortunately, that mage was unable to recognise what was the spirit, and what was the slave, and was unsuccessful, and the slave had to be slain.

His second attempt used an exorbitant amount of lyrium to send not a mage, but the possessed slave's son into the fade. He was able to figure out what pieces were his mother, and they were successfully separated. The spirit on the other hand, was corrupted, as the boy was able to separate them, but he did so in a way that twisted the spirit into a demon, who then possessed him, and he was slain. His mother, though traumatised, appears to have returned whole and unharmed. The magister suggests in his notes that it would require someone who was well acquainted with both the spirit and the host to separate them without repercussion."

"So if we use this spell on Anders, we'd need someone who knew both him and Justice?" Hawke mused.

"Someone who knew them both well enough to separate their very essences." Wynne agreed.

"That would be me, then," Nathaniel said from the back of the room. All eyes turned to look at the dark rogue leaning against the wall. Vivenka nodded.

"Yes, I suppose you were closest to Justice, aside from Anders, obviously. As long as you know the risks," He nodded in reply.

"With that aside, the next issue is how to get quite so much lyrium." Wynne said.

"How much are we talking here?" asked Varric.

"Well, the magister who wrote this tome happened to have built his home on top of a very rich vein of lyrium. All he had to do was pay some men to dig down, and perform his ritual while standing on top of what could have been tons of lyrium. The spell managed to render much of the top layers of raw lyrium inert."

"He had a room with a lyrium floor on top of tons of raw lyrium ore, and he bled it dry?" Anders said incredulously. "With a single spell?"

"Not all of it, just the top few yards," Wynne corrected him.

"That is still an incredible feat. Do you truly suggest we try to obtain such a substantial amount of lyrium?" Velanna asked with a raised eyebrow.

"To send a non-mage into the fade, sufficiently distract a powerful and corrupted spirit, and to fuel the spell itself, would require no less. Unless you happen to know a blood mage willing to slaughter an entire village for the power required." Wynne said sternly. Hawke gave Merrill a speculatively look.

"No!" she said indignantly to his unvoiced question. Hawke had the grace to look sheepish under Fenris' glare.

They spent the next hour discussing where to get their hands on so much raw lyrium. The deep roads were out of the question, as the darkspawn numbers grew and information from Vivenka's sources became unreliable. That left buying it wholesale from the dwarves or topside from the black market.

"Sorry Hawke, but even I don't have this kind of money." Varric conceded finally.

"Without that lyrium, there's no way we can do this with any chance of success." Vivenka said with a shake of her head.

"So there's no hope?" Anders asked, and Fenris saw Nathaniel take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He sighed, grinding his teeth as he knew he would most likely regret what he was about to say.

"There is," he said quietly, the first words he'd spoken since dinner. Merrill looked up at him from where she'd been falling asleep on his shoulder. "There is a way. To do this without raw lyrium." Merrill frowned at him, and though all eyes in the room were on him, he was looking only at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It is…the reason I was made. Danarius wanted an extraordinary bodyguard, but he only decided to give me that position after he learned I could fight. I had forgotten, but it is one of the things I remembered when I…met my sister." He paused and looked down at the white lines on the palm of his hand. "The lyrium is bound to my body and to my life. As long as I live, they have power. With a lot of health poultices on hand, a healer mage and a lot of food, I believe I can provide the power you need."

"That sounds incredibly dangerous," Vivenka said, though the respect in her gaze was blatant. Most of Hawke's companions were staring at Fenris in absolute shock, not least of all Anders himself.

"Are you sure you're willing to risk your life for this?" Hawke asked. "For Anders?"

"Well, I do believe I owe him a favour," Fenris replied with a shrug.

"Seriously?" Anders gaped, his incredulity plastered across his face. "You can't be, he has to be messing with me."

"Are you really sure?" Merrill asked quietly from his side. He pulled her close to him as he spoke, his words carrying to the rest of the room but truly meant for her.

"There was a time when I woke up each day ready to run, never sleeping in the same place, stealing scraps of food and money where I could. Now I wake each day with a beautiful woman in my arms, and friends that I have come to cherish and rely on. I have two people to thank for this. I have Hawke, who saw more in me than just a runaway slave and brought me into his chaotic little family." That got a chuckle from the group. "And Anders, who helped me understand that what I felt for you was real, and that there was more to you than your magic. They have given the most precious thing in my life, and if this is how the Maker would have me thank them, then so be it." The room was silent following his words.

"Oh, I love you!" Merrill exclaimed, and then looked suddenly embarrassed as she remembered their audience. "I probably shouldn't have said that out loud in front of everyone."

"It's ok Daisy, based on that speech, I'm pretty sure he loves you too," Varric reassured her, as he continued to hurriedly jot down notes.

"Thank you, Fenris," Vivenka said with feeling. "And we will still try and get our hands on as much lyrium as we can, hopefully that will ease the strain on you and make this a little less dangerous. For now I think it's time we all got some rest."


	19. Chapter 18 The Ritual

The Ritual

Two weeks later, Fenris found himself stripped to his small clothes, sitting in a small wooden tub filled with all the lyrium they had managed to acquire. Bethany knelt behind him, a crate of health poultices and a covered basket of food beside her. The throne room in Vigil's Keep had been especially prepared the previous day, with runes and protective circles to keep the spell contained. Opposite Fenris was Anders, similarly undressed and seated on the cold stone floor. He had been grumbling about it, until Fenris pointed out that at least he wasn't sitting in a tub of cold blue fluid. Velanna, Wynne and Merrill bustled about the room, making last minute preparations, while Nathaniel paced along one wall. Hawke followed his path with his eyes, as he leant against a bookcase, the only one in the room who did not look ill at ease. Standing by the main door, dressed in gleaming gold plate, was King Alistair, talking quietly to Vivenka.

The entire keep had been cleared for the day, all staff given the day off and encouraged to spend it with family or in Amaranthine. Most of Vivenka's wardens and the remainder of Hawke's companions were milling around in the courtyard, Varric entertaining Leska and her younger brother Garett with stories. No one was permitted to enter the keep, and the atmosphere was decidedly tense. Loghain had returned a few days ago, and while unhappy with his wife's plan, agreed to keep the waiting warden's in line, on the condition that a templar be present should the worst occur. Alistair had been their compromise, possessing the templar talents, but no threat to any of the mages. Vivenka had refused to trust any other templar. His arrival had been tense. Though he had long ago forgiven his former lover for sparing Loghain, and once again become firm friends, he still detested his father-in-law. Vivenka had learned years ago that it was best not to keep them in the same room for more than an hour if she wanted them both to walk out unscathed.

"Are you ready for this?" Fenris started a little at the quiet question, having forgotten Bethany was behind him.

"I am," he answered.

"I want you to know, I'm proud of you. It takes a true friend to risk your self for someone like this."

"Just you wait until I'm screaming in agony, then you'll be really proud," Fenris said a little bitterly. "But thank you, I appreciate the sentiment." She gave his bare shoulder a light squeeze, snatching her hand away when she felt his stiffen slightly at the touch.

At that moment, Wynne pronounced them as prepared as they could possibly be, and asked Nathaniel to step forward. Wynne and Merrill moved to flank Fenris, each placing a hand on Fenris' shoulders. Both slowly began to draw on his lyrium, and he grunted slightly in discomfort. Merrill looked down at him with concern, but he just shook his head.

"Remember Nathaniel, the fade is a place of dreams. Our spell should take you straight to Anders and Justice, but be on your guard," Wynne warned the rogue solemnly. He nodded grimly, and white light began to emanate from the two mages.

Fenris gasped as pain racked his body. The pressure on his right shoulder began to lighten, and he gripped Merrill's wrist before she could move her hand away.

"Don't let go," he ordered. "No matter how much I scream." Fearful green eyes looked down into his, and Merrill nodded grimly. The magic swirled around them, and soon both Anders and Nathaniel were unconscious, Anders' prone body glowing almost as brightly as their magic.

After about twenty minutes, Fenris gave up on trying not to scream. A while later he became aware of a bottle at his lips, the elfroot concoction soothing his raw throat and little else. He looked down at the sludge he was sitting in, and saw it had turned pale grey, now completely inert. His mind was near blank, the pain all he knew, save for the blessed moments of relieve when one of Bethany's spells washed through him. He had no idea how long he was in that state, being returned to coherency to swallow elfroot and chunks of food before the pain pulled him away again. Images danced before his eyes, snippets of Nate's time in the fade. Battles with demons, arguments with spirits and tears from Anders all melded together, his mind only able to truly comprehend his pain and nothing else. Suddenly the world flashed red and his body felt strangely weightless. With a final, soul-wrenching scream, Fenris knew no more.

* * *

><p>"Shit, he's not breathing!" Bethany cried.<p>

"Help him!" Merrill found herself screaming, herself so tired she had collapsed to her knees the moment the spell had been released. Wynne had almost passed out, helped to the floor by Hawke and Alistair.

"Bethany, take Merrill to her room, I'll deal with Fenris," Anders ordered even as his hands began to glow with healing magic. "Alistair, take Wynne back to her room. Hawke, go tell the others it's safe to come in." Hawke smirked to see the king of Fereldan ordered around, before following his own instruction, privately proud of Anders ability to take charge of a situation when healing was required.

Anders sent a jolt of lightening straight to Fenris' heart, restarting the overtaxed organ. Fenris shot straight up, screaming and flailing as his body reacted to such a rude awakening. Anders sighed deeply in relief. He didn't know what he would have done if Fenris had died for him.

"It's alright Fenris, calm down," he ordered. Fenris stopped screaming immediately, cowering away from him as though Anders had lashed him. That was when Anders realised something was very, very wrong.

* * *

><p>Merrill was woken several hours later by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. Opening her eyes blearily, she saw a white-haired silhouette standing over her bed.<p>

"Fenris," she whispered breathily.

"Not this time, sorry Merrill," Hawke said, his voice noticeably strained. "I need you to come with me."

"Ok, but is Fenris all right?" she asked as she got up off the bed and retrieved her staff.

"Just follow me Merrill. You'll see." Merrill didn't like the sound of that, but dutifully followed Hawke down the dark corridor. Hawke opened the door into a larger hallway, and Merrill stopped at the threshold, confused.

The walls were lined with her friends and the senior wardens, who had been talking in subdued tones until she entered the room. Now the room was silent, all eyes on her, their expressions all of concerned mixed with a tiny drop of hope.

"What's going on? Where is Fenris?" Merrill demanded, a little hysterical.

"Physically, he's alright," Bethany said stepping forward.

"Physically?" Merrill asked trepidatiously.

"We're hoping you can help with the other part. He…its best if you see for yourself," Bethany gestured to the door behind her.

Cautiously, Merrill opened the door.

It was a small, sparsely furnished office. Sitting on the floor in the corner, his legs folded and his back ramrod straight, was Fenris. His eyes flicked to her for a moment, processing her ears, tattoos and clothing, before flicking up to the staff on her back.

"Who are you?" He spoke the words in Arcanum, which he had been in the process of teaching her. The words were like a punch in the gut, and Merrill felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Fenris? It's me, Merrill," she managed to choke out; frantically searching his face for any clue that he recognised her. He frowned.

"Why do you all call me a wolf?" he asked, relieved she spoke Arcanum.

"It-it is your name." Merrill vision blurred as tears threatened to spill forth. The full realisation of what the ritual had done to him hit her as he replied:

"That is not my name. My name is Leto."

_A/N: Merrill, I am so sorry! Makers breath, I am a horrible person. Sorry this took so long, got a little stuck and then other stories wouldn't get out of my head._


	20. Chapter 19 A Man Lost

A Man Lost

Anders entered the room at the sound of Merrill's anguished wail. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she begged the elf in the corner to remember, to know her. But the human mage's entrance had sent Fenris back into his blank-faced, motionless shell. Anders gently pulled her towards the door, hoping to calm her down once they reached the corridor.

"Please Ma'Vhenan, you have to remember! The Eluvian, Danarius, Varania!" His flinched at that, confusion lighting his eyes for a moment, and Anders swore under breath.

"Maneo," Fenris said quietly. Merrill's eyes widened in hope.

"He said wait, let me go Anders," she ordered as she roughly shrugged off his hands. She knelt before her lover, and the he licked his lips nervously, glancing at Anders as if asking permission. Anders sighed deeply and nodded.

"_What do you know of my master, of my sister?"_ he asked in Arcanum. "_I awoke from my slumber in this strange castle. All I know is that I am far from home. How did I get here? What happened to me?_"

"_You are in Fereldan, at the grey warden compound in Amaranthine. You have spent the last seven years living in Kirkwall."_ The lyrium elf frowned as she spoke.

"_You lie. I have been living in my master's home in Minrathous. I am to compete for his favour tomorrow."_ Merrill bit her lip, trying to hold back more tears.

"_The day you speak of occurred many years ago. You won, and earned the brands on your skin._" Her voice was husky with emotion. Fenris looked down at his hands pensively.

"_I had wondered…" _he trailed off. "_Then Mother and Varania are safe? They are free?"_ It broke her heart all over again to here the hope in his voice.

"_They…are dead."_

"_How?" _he demanded, a spark of anger in his eyes reminding her strongly of the man she had known. She swallowed nervously before replying.

"_Your mother I do not know. Your sister…died by your hand."_

"_You LIE!" _he roared, his fists balling as if to strike and she backed away fearfully.

"What's happening? What did he say?" Anders asked fearfully. Fenris suddenly seemed to remember the mage was in the room, and returned to his still pose, head bowed.

"I told him he killed his sister," Merrill explained quietly. Anders groaned.

"Probably not the best thing to tell a confused and amnesiatic elf with a history of violence."

"He asked," she explained meekly.

"_Where is my master?_" Fenris asked suddenly.

"_Also dead by your hand."_ Merrill saw the look of shock and horror that flashed across his features before he carefully schooled them back to neutrality.

"_I do not believe you."_

"I told him he killed Danarius. He doesn't believe me," Merrill translated for Anders.

"He probably thinks we kidnapped him and gave him those brands." Anders gave a dry, humourless chuckle. "Typical stubborn elf."

Merrill felt more tears spill down her face, and she reached out to touch her lover's cheek. He flinched away from her, and she felt her heart begin to physically ache.

"Come on Merrill, we need to talk this through with the others." Anders said gently as he helped her to her feet. With one last look at the elf in the corner, she let herself be pulled from the room.

Merrill was led to the mess hall, where she was set down between Bethany and Isabela, who promptly began feeding her comfort food and making sympathetic noises.

"Well, that plan failed spectacularly." Anders grumbled as he plopped down opposite Hawke and Vivenka. "He doesn't remember her at all. He taught her Arcanum though, so they were able to have a conversation, at least. According to Merrill, his last memory is going to sleep the day before he earned his brands."

"I was afraid of that," Hawke said as he rubbed his brow. "So we definitely have the slave Leto and not the warrior Fenris?"

"Pretty much," Anders replied between mouthfuls of stew. "And he didn't believe her when she told him about his sister and Danarius. I think he's assumed we stole him."

"Great, just sodding wonderful," grumbled Vivenka. She turned to the rogue next to her. "I'm so sorry about this Hawke," she began but he cut her off.

"We've been over this, you don't need to apologise. It was his decision. There is no way any of us could have known this would happen." He turned back to Anders.

"So, what do you think we should do?"

"I'm just a healer Hawke, not a damn miracle worker!" Anders cried in exasperation. "I can heal his body, not his mind." He calmed down a little. "At best, we can hope his memory will return in time. At worst…we would have to try and re-educate him."

"And what if that isn't what he wants?" Vivenka asked shrewdly.

"He's free to leave if he so chooses," Hawke said slowly, his expression thoughtful. "And if he did, he would most likely head back to Tevinter."

"To become a slave once more," Anders pointed out with disgust. "Would you really let him do that Hawke?" Hawke nodded.

"I would do all in my power to convince him otherwise, but ultimately it _is _his choice."

"He can barely understand us Hawke! The only person who can actually talk to him is Merrill."

"Actually," a stern voice said behind him. "I can talk to him also." Anders turned to see Sebastian looking down at him disdainfully. "Many of the older religious texts are written in Arcanum. I picked up a fair bit during my studies within the chantry, and Fenris and I would often chat to each other in his mother tongue."

"Do you think you could convince him not to leave?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"I will help him find his path Hawke," Sebastian answered cryptically. "That is all I can promise."

00000

Merrill spent most of the next three days in her room. Twice she tried to speak to Fenris, only to leave crying as he refused to believe her words. On the third day she watched from her window as Fenris and Sebastian saddled a pair of mounts, Sebastian calling goodbyes and extracting a promise from Hawke to follow him to Starkhaven in a few months. Fenris had decided to travel with him to Starkhaven, and then head further north to Tevinter. Merrill hadn't been able to bring herself to say goodbye.

The silver head rose and matching sets of jade eyes locked for a brief moment. Uncertainty coloured his face at the sight of her sorrow, but after a moment he simply shook his head and turned away, following Sebastian through the gate and out of Merrill's life.

00000

Several months later found Leto sitting in front of a roaring fire, a glass of wine in hand as he stared pensively into the flames. He still didn't know what to think. Somewhere along his journey north, he came to accept that Sebastian and the others had spoken the truth. He had been a free man for seven years, and the idea was both terrifying and invigorating. He had intended to travel on to Tevinter once they reached Starkhaven, but the prince had offered his hospitality for a week or two, and Leto had stayed. That had soon become a month, and then two, and now Leto did not know what he wanted to do. He couldn't stay here in Sebastian's castle forever, but he had no memory of any life beyond slavery.

A few days into his stay, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had asked Sebastian to tell him stories of their adventures together. The prince had been more than happy to comply, regaling him with the tales of Hawke's escapades over the years. Soon Leto began to feel as if he truly had known the brash and beautiful pirate, the silver tongued dwarf, the stern guard-captain and the possessed mage. It was a strange feeling, to be told something and feel as though he had already known it.

Sebastian always seemed to tread lightly when he spoke of the beautiful elven woman who had been so affected by his memory loss. He felt certain that Sebastian was unsure how to approach her as a subject. He had been told that they had been lovers, and that she was mage. He had been unable to believe that, the mind of a slave telling him that no mage would deign to show a slave affection. But as he began to trust and believe Sebastian, he accepted that he and the beautiful girl with shining eyes had been in love. It caused him a strange kind of pain to think of her face on the day he had left, the hope in her eyes fading to wretched despair. It troubled him and he often sat here by the fire thinking of her, trying to will his memories to return, so he might know why he loved her and what he had done to deserve her love in return.


	21. Chapter 20 The Traveller's Life

The Traveller's Life

Merrill had never felt so lost. When Mahariel and Tamlen died, she had had the Keeper. When Marethari died, she had had Fenris. But now she had lost him, not to death but to his memory. Her friends tried valiantly to cheer her up, to bring her out of her shell, an effort she appreciated. So she put on a brave face, a pale imitation of her former bright and bubbly disposition, but it was enough to keep them and their concerns at bay. Her smiles were hollow, her laughs short and forced. She spent most of her time wandering the keep alone, under the watchful eyes of Vivenka's wardens. She knew that everyone talked about her when she wasn't around, that they knew she wasn't quite right anymore, but she didn't care. A piece of her had walked out of her life, and it was all she could do to fight the sucking vacuum within her.

News of the civil war breaking out within the Circles and the Chantry soon reached them, and soon they were going their separate ways. Isabela's ship set sail from Amaranthine with Varric and Hawke on board, heading back to Kirkwall, where Varric and Hawke would depart, one to stay, the other to head north to Starkhaven. Anders was to remain at the Vigil under Vivenka's watchful eye. Merrill remained simply because she had nowhere else to go. The only people she really spoke to now were Anders and, strangely enough, Leska.

The sweet little six-year-old sought the elf out when ever she could; dragging her into games and making her forget her broken heart for an hour or two. Merrill was quite certain that the captivating little girl was one of the only reasons she was still sane.

A month after Hawke left the Vigil, Merrill paid Anders an early morning visit. Before the morning sun had melted the frost from the keep's windows, Merrill was gone, her room empty save for a note thanking the wardens for their hospitality.

The city of Amaranthine would once have been an intimidating sight to the young Dalish, but this is not the effervescent, naïve girl who could get lost ten feet from her front door. Her hair now fell to her shoulders, and in the clothes Isabela had bought her and a large navy cloak gifted to her by Vivenka, she was unrecognisable, her tattoos the only mark of the girl she had once been.

It was those very tattoos that caught the eye of another elf as she approached the city's gate.

Micah stood from his crouched position, brown eyes narrowing as he studied her. Life had gotten hard for Micah since the assault on Amaranthine. Colbert had died in the first attack, and Micah himself now sported a scar from the middle of his forehead, through his right eyebrow and across his cheek, a reminder of the cut that had almost blinded him. Without his human partner, none of their old human contacts would deal with him, and he could only sell the game he brought down to elves, who had little to pay him with. He'd had an idea knocking around his head for the last couple of years, and it was only now that this idea looked like a possibility. After all, who better to help him find the Dalish, than an actual Dalish?

He followed her into the city, wondering what she was here for, why she wasn't with her clan. She wandered through the marketplace, browsing through the wares of various merchants, before turning down what Micah knew to be a dead-end alley. He hesitated a moment before following. She was standing at the end of the alley, watching him approach.

"Why are you following me?" she asked sharply, cold green eyes levelled at him. Her accent confirmed her as Dalish, and Micah whooped internally, though outwardly his expression remained stoic.

"You're Dalish." It wasn't a question. "I was hoping you could help me find them." She frowned, thinking over his words.

"I don't know where they are. I'm sorry, I can't help you." Her voice had a note of melancholy, and Micah wondered if maybe her clan had been killed.

"But you know them," he pressed. "You know where they go, how they operate. If you tried, you could find them."

"They would not welcome me." Her voice and eyes were hard and cold once more.

"But would they welcome me?" he asked. Her expression became thoughtful, if still slightly suspicious.

"Most clans welcome city elves willing to return to the old ways. Especially if they have any skills particularly useful to the clan."

"Like hunting?" She nodded in response. "All I need is for you to help me find them. I can pay you a little, and I can protect you and hunt for you while we travel." She continued to look thoughtful. Micah let her think, he was well known for his patience.

"Alright," she said finally. "I could use a Keeper's council."

And that was how she came to be travelling with Micah, seeking out the Dalish. As they made their way towards the Brecilian Forest, more elves joined them, hoping to find a better life, or simply to escape the war. By the time they reached the edge of the Brecilian forest, there were over a dozen of them, possessions carried in a cart pulled by an ill-tempered mule. Somehow, everyone in the group deferred to her, often through Micah. She had taught them much of the ways of the Dalish, proper prayers and when to use them, how the Dalish lived when on the road and when camped. No one commented on her rapidly growing belly, and in truth, many assumed the child was Micah's, assuming that the two elves in charge were a couple. He had asked her, only once, when he first realised she was pregnant, who the father was. The look she had given him had been so desolate and heartbreaking that he had dropped the subject immediately, and when anyone asked him about the child's parentage, he had simply growled it was none of their business.

Four and a half months into her pregnancy, Merrill began to notice signs that a clan was near. One week later, a pair of halla approached their camp, and consented to pull their cart. Merrill was not surprised when the halla led them to a clan.

Lanaya was surprised, to say the least, to learn that it was Merrill leading a ragtag group of elves. She explained, when Merrill sat down with her, that her scouts had told her of the approach of another clan, and it was then that Merrill realised that was what they had become. She had fallen easily into the role of Keeper, with Micah unwittingly acting as head hunter. They even had halla now. Micah, sitting beside her and slightly back, nodded at this notion, and seemed totally unsurprised when most of their group elected to stay together and form a new clan. When she saw this, the vacuum within Merrill began to lessen, and she felt herself begin to feel whole again.

They stayed with Lanaya's clan for a month, preparing themselves for what they would need to be a true clan. Two new aravels were built for her clan, and lore that Lanaya could copy quickly was passed into Merrill's hands. She even had a First now, as one of the children in her group began to show signs of magic. As they bid Lanaya and her people farewell, Merrill did so with a true smile on her face, the first since that fateful day at Vigils Keep.

00000

He was no longer the man who had woken pained and confused on that cold stone floor, and neither was he the brooding, angry warrior his friends had known. He had never known the agony of the procedure that marked him, nor the torture that had been being Danarius' pet. He was a slave who suddenly found himself free, with no idea what he was supposed to do with his freedom.

He filled his days with training, at first discovering the skills he had once had, and then teaching them to Sebastian's soldiers. He still felt the amount of respect shown him strange, but as the months passed, he began to become accustomed to being treated as an equal, or more, as he was a close personal friend of the prince.

His evenings were spent with Sebastian in front of the fire, talking of things both past and present. In time, they were joined by Hawke, who was more than happy to help fill in the blanks, telling Leto of their adventures before Sebastian had joined them. Against Sebastian's warning, he told Leto of his and Merrill's unorthodox courtship. Leto had been gobsmacked when Hawke mentioned she was a blood mage. Leto did not have his former hatred of mages, but he still found the notion of blood magic repellent, as it had been a very real threat during his time as a slave. Hawke told him of the Eluvian and Merrill's obsession with it. He told of their arguments over it, and how Merrill had finally destroyed it for him.

After that, he found himself lying awake at night, trying match the beautiful woman he had seen with the idea of a blood mage. He could not imagine those bright eyes sparkling with glee and power as the blood of a sacrifice stained her hands. He had asked Hawke about it the next evening, and the rogue had explained that Merrill had never sacrificed anyone, and had in fact given up blood magic for him. That had appeased him, but he still lay awake at night, thinking of her, and the way she had looked at him. Her raven hair had reminded him of his mother, and fresh tears spilled onto his pillow. He clenched his fists, and winced as his brands flared with pain. They had begun to ache not long after they arrived at the castle, and progressively got worse, until it was a near constant throb under his skin. Sebastian and Hawke had not been much help, stating that in the past he had mentioned that the brands caused him near constant pain. Leto began to understand why he had apparently scowled so much.

One month after Hawke arrived, he received a letter from Anders, mentioning that Merrill had left the Vigil. Leto frowned at the news, and asked where she had gone. Hawke had cocked an eyebrow at him, but duly replied that Merrill had not told anyone where she was going. A heavy weight settled in Leto's gut, and it remained for days until he realised what it was. He tossed and turned for weeks, the worry eating away at him until he realised he couldn't take it anymore.

And so early one morning, Leto collected his meagre belongings, the coin Sebastian had paid him for training his men and said his goodbyes. He walked away from the palace completely unaware of the broad grins adorning the faces of his friends. There was hope for him yet.

_A/N: I know I've been slow updating, but I finally know where this is going! Can't guarantee I'll update soon but I'll try, I really want to finish this. _


	22. Chapter 21 A Warrior's Return

A Warriors Return

Leto felt certain that the rhythmic pounding of heavy armoured feet on the forest floor was the only thing keeping his exhausted limbs from giving out. The hunters had caught up to him at the forest's edge and he had been running ever since. When he first encountered them in Ostwick, he had tried to tell them that his master was dead and there was no reward to collect. Their leader had replied that even if he wasn't lying, there would be many magisters in Tevinter willing to pay handsomely for Danarius' old pet. He had managed to escape, and board the ship he'd booked passage on to Highever, only to run into them again as he was leaving Amaranthine.

His worn brown cloak snagged on a branch, and he felt it tear even as he stumbled. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped the back of his cloak, and his fall was redirected, twisted so he landed in a hollow behind a large tree. The sound of bows releasing filled the air, followed by the thud of bodies hitting the ground. Leto looked up to see an elf with a scar over his right eye offering him a hand up. Half a dozen elves stood behind him, all armed and looking at him with various levels curiosity and wariness. He pulled his hood up self-consciously.

"State your name," the scarred elf said coldly.

"I am Leto."

"What brought you here?" Leto frowned at the question, exhaustion making his thoughts sluggish.

"I seek the Dalish." It was true enough. The scarred elf said nothing for a moment, looking the exhausted elf over closely.

"Those are some…interesting marks you got there," he commented slowly. Leto snorted at that.

"Yes, the Magisters of Tevinter are not known for their lack of imagination," he replied bitterly, his fists clenched, the ache in his muscles almost nothing compared to the ache of his markings. His legs chose that moment to give out, and he collapsed to the ground. One of the scarred elf's hunters rushed forward.

"Mythal's mercy, how long have you been running?" she gasped.

"Three…days," Leto replied, and he felt his vision begin to fade. As his consciousness faded, he heard the scarred elf order his followers to carry him back to camp.

* * *

><p>"Ah, you're awake." A familiar dispassionate voice piece the fog of his mind. "You're in luck too. Our keeper just returned from trading with another clan. She can decide if you are to have a place among us."<p>

Leto sat up, rubbing the sand from his eyes. He lay on a pallet next to a low fire, the sun shining through the trees telling him it was mid-afternoon.

"How long have I slept?" he asked.

"One night and most of this day. We saw no point in waking you until the Keeper's return. Here," The other elf shoved a bowl of soup at him. "You'll need it." The other elf stood and moved towards the other side of the camp. Leto's eyes were drawn to a raven-haired figure crouched next to a young girl. She looked up as the scarred elf approached, and Leto felt his heart stop. It was her. Her hair was longer, but there was no mistaking those soulful eyes and delicate tattoos. And then she beamed up at the approaching elf and stood. Leto's heart dropped. She had a family and she was happy. The image of her face as he had left entered his mind. He couldn't make her feel that way again.

"Oh, hello Micah! Elsie tells me we've picked up another?" Merrill greeted him brightly. The stoic elf nodded.

"A strange looking man, he'd been running from humans for three days when we found him." A frown crossed her face.

"Strange looking how?" she asked, a suspicion forming in the back of her mind.

"He has silver hair but looks too young for it. And his whole body is marked with silver tattoos-"

"Where is he?!" she demanded suddenly.

"By the east fire," Micah replied with a frown. With surprising strength, she pushed the male elf aside, her eyes searching the now empty fireside. She let out a long, shaking breath, refusing to cry in front of her clan. Micah grunted in surprise when he saw that the stranger was gone.

"Did he tell you his name?" Merrill asked quietly. Micah frowned, picking up on the raw emotion barely contained in her voice.

"He said it was Leto," he replied. Merrill sighed.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for." Micah looked at her, and saw the cold, empty expression she had worn when they met.

"It was him, wasn't it? The father?"

"Yes. But he's not the man who fell in love with me. Not anymore." Micah put his arm around her shaking shoulders, and led her back to her aravel.

* * *

><p>Eventually, Merrill had to concede that Micah was right. Her due date was fast approaching, and her first was not experienced enough to handle a birth on her own. And so they made their way to Amaranthine and the Vigil, where Anders had promised to help her deliver, when he had confirmed her pregnancy all those months ago. Merrill couldn't explain how she knew that this one would live at the time, she just knew. And so it was, her clan approached the Vigil, Merrill riding in the back of an aravel, her girth having reduced her to an undignified waddle. Suddenly, a sickening, draining sensation filled her, and her connection to the fade stuttered strangely before returning. Micah called the aravels to a halt, and raced back to Merrill.<p>

"Keeper, the Vigil is under attack!" he cried.

"I know," she said with a nod. "It's the Templars."

"We have to get you out of here," Micah turned to run back to the head of the aravels, but she grabbed his arm to stop him.

"No. My friends are in there, and I can't even imagine what they will do to Anders if they get their hands on him. Gather the hunters, the hahren and da'lens can stay here with the aravels. We are going to help." Micah frowned, not liking the idea of Merrill going into battle against Templars in her condition. But she was his Keeper, so he nodded and ran to fulfil her instructions. It began to rain as she stepped down from the aravel.

The Templars at the Vigil's outskirts were not at all prepared for an attack from the rear, and most fell in the first wave of arrows. The wardens did not question the elves arrival, and instead joined with them to face the main force that was mired in the courtyard. As the wardens and elves engaged the Templars, Merrill hung back at the gate to call down a lightening storm. A part of her mind wondered why the Templar's anti-magic talents weren't truly affecting her, but she pushed the thought aside to concentrate. Across the courtyard, a flash of silver hair caught her eye.

Leto had stopped at the Vigil to rest for a few days, and figure out where he wanted to go from there. Vivenka had put him to work, training her men in and against his unusual fighting style. He had been there two weeks when a rogue faction of Templars sent the wardens a message, demanding they release Anders into their custody. When the wardens refused, they had attacked the next evening. And so Leto found himself soaked to the bone, coated in mud and blood as he carved up Templars attempting to capture the man he had once known. Suddenly, the scent of ozone filled the air, and Leto watched in astonishment as a newly arrived mage called forth a lightening storm, even as their ranks were swollen with more wardens and strange elves.

His eyes locked on the mage. It was her. Why was she here? And how was it she could still cast? The call of her magic seemed to make his markings hurt all the more, and he gritted his teeth through it as he beheaded a Templar. He couldn't look away from her for long, and that was how he saw it. There were Templars behind her, and she was too focused on the battle to see them. She was under attack, and he **had** to get to her.

His world flashed silver as power burst from his markings, and he took a step forward into the fade. His friends had told him of his strange abilities, but he had never been able to activate them, and they had been unable to teach him. The pain in his markings ceased, and he realised that this power had been building up and that was what had caused him pain. The enemies nearest him all fell back in a blast of energy, and in a single step he was behind her, swinging his sword in a wide arc to cleave the three Templars at the waist.

Suddenly, pain wracked his mind, and he stumbled.

"Fenris!" A voice cried, and then she was beside him.

"Merrill." His voice was weak, and he couldn't say more before the pain returned. Around them the battle had been won, and between the cheering wardens ran worried healers, carting off those who needed immediate care. Only a couple of wardens and three of the elves were seriously hurt, and soon Leto's pained screams had drawn both Anders and Bethany to his side.

"Merrill, where is he hurt?" Bethany asked crisply.

"I don't know!" Merrill wailed. "One moment he was fine, he was saving me, the next he was screaming!"

"Let's get him inside." Anders commanded, calling over a pair of wardens to help. As the wardens carried the screaming elf away, the two women followed them in. The entered the hall that led to the infirmary, when suddenly Merrill went very still.

"Merrill? Are you alright?" Bethany asked, her face pinched with concern. Merrill didn't answer; she just touched a hand to her swollen belly, looking down at it in a mix of wonder and horror. Bethany followed her gaze, and saw the fluid pooling at the elf's feet.

"Shit! Come with me Merrill, there's a guest room we can get you set up in." She snagged the arm of a passing serving girl heading to the infirmary with an armload of bandages. "Tell Anders Merrill's gone into labour, I'm putting her in Wynne's old room." The girl nodded and scurried off, and Bethany led the nervous and pained young mother away.

Pain like icy spikes pierced his brain, even as his mind was flooded with images, forgotten faces and places, returning with agonising clarity. He howled and writhed as the memories assaulted him, and there was nothing any of the healers could do. His pain was in his mind, a proxy of the agony Danarius had inflicted upon him. They had tried to strap him down, to prevent him hurting himself, but he had simply phased through any bonds they used. In the end he had been left in an old guest room with a large bed. He didn't know how long he'd been there, drowning in memories.

"That's good Merrill, breathe, you're doing wonderfully." Bethany said soothingly as Merrill screamed on the bed. She babbled oaths in Elvhen, her black hair plastered to her sweat soaked brow, her normally pale checks flushed with effort. Outside her room, a small group had gathered. Micah and Elsie, Merrill's First, sat on a low bench, while Nathaniel, the current Acting-Commander of the Grey, leant against a wall, watching as Anders bustled in and out of the room, bring blankets and water.

A sound pierced the pained haze of the silver elf's own private hell. It was a scream, and it wasn't his. It was hers. She was in pain, and he wasn't there to protect her. Through sheer force of will, he pushed the pain back, and embraced a clarity he hadn't known in years.

Nathaniel stopped Anders as he bustled towards the door, arms laden with fresh blankets.

"How long do you think this will take?" The rogue asked quietly.

"I'm not sure, but she should be ready to crown soon. She's lucky; her labour has been relatively short, maybe a reaction to the battle…" Anders trailed off as he caught sight of the figure at the end of the hall.

"Leto?" he said incredulously, and Nathaniel turned in time to seem the elf stagger down the hall. He moved towards the door, but both rogue and mage stopped him.

"You can't go in there just now Leto, she's giving birth. You can see her and the baby afterwards." The elf raised one black eyebrow at him.

"Unhand me." His voice was quiet and dangerous.

"I'm sorry Leto, you can't-"

"While I appreciate the sentiment, _Mage_" the warrior cut him off, "I swear by all that the Maker made holy, if you continue to prevent me from being there for the birth of my child, there won't be anything left of you to burn!" Anders gasped audibly at his words.

"Fenris?" he asked quietly, his voice hopeful and uncertain. The elf just nodded and then grunted in surprise as the mage threw his arms around him, pulling him into a crushing hug.

"Yes, yes, I happy to know who you are too, now will you get off me?" Fenris demanded in exasperation, although privately happy that his friend was so glad to have him back.

"Of course, of course." The mage let go of him as though he'd been burned, suddenly reminded of the old Fenris' temperament. Fenris turned towards the door, which was currently being blocked by Micah. The two elves sized each other up.

"I have no wish to intrude on your family," Fenris spoke quietly. "But I cannot stand idly by as she has my child." The other elf snorted and raised an eyebrow.

"That isn't my family in there, its yours." He replied, taking a step towards Fenris until they were almost nose to nose. "I'll let you through, the moment you swear to me that you won't _ever_ leave her like that again." Emerald eyes studied chocolate ones, and he nodded. The scarred elf stepped aside, and Fenris took a deep breath before entering the room.


	23. Chapter 22 Whole Again

Whole Again

Bethany didn't turn her head as she heard the door open and close behind her. Assuming Anders had returned, she spoke, and her words chilled Fenris to the bone.

"Anders, we have a problem!" Fenris turned on his heel and wrenched the door open.

"ANDERS!" he bellowed, causing both the mage in question and anyone else present to jump in surprise. Anders shot past the distressed elf into the room, rushing to Bethany's side.

"Should he be in here?" Bethany asked, looking confused.

"It's all right," Anders assured her as he took her place at the foot of the bed. "He's back." Bethany gave the elf a small smile, but he was distracted by the wide green eyes staring at him from the bed.

"Leto?" Merrill gasped, panting heavily from the strain. He shook his head.

"No, mei amor. Fenris." Was his firm reply, and he was sure that the naked hope and relief in her eyes would have made him fall in love with her all over again. He rushed to her side and took her hand. "I'm here now." Merrill opened her mouth to speak, but instead began to wail as the pain took her once more. Fenris knew the two mages were rushing around and speaking in worried whispers, but he only had eyes for his lover, murmuring soft words of encouragement through her ordeal. He couldn't say how long he sat by her side, watching as she fought and struggled, her strength ebbing away with every moment.

"You can do this, mei amor," Fenris said as he looked into her exhausted eyes, his hand white and numb from where she gripped it. "I know you can."

"I can't, I can't!" Merrill babbled deliriously.

"Yes, you can." Was his firm reply. "If it were anyone but you, I would have my doubts. But you have been through so much, you have survived so much, I refuse to believe that you cannot get through this."

"Fenris." Anders' voice seemed strangely distant. "I have an idea, but I need your help." Fenris' head snapped up, and at the mage's gesture, he moved to the foot of the bed.

"What do you need of me?"

"The baby is stuck, with the umbilical chord tangled around it's neck," Anders explained. "We can't get it out fast enough naturally before it would suffocate."

"But you could," supplied Bethany. "With your talents, you can reach in, reposition it and untangle the chord. Once that's done, it should be able to come out on it's own." The stoic elf took a deep breath and nodded. His gauntlets had been removed when he'd been put to bed, and he removed the sleeves and outer layer of his armour so he wore only his under-tunic and leggings.

Activating his brands, he very gently reached into his lover's womb. He placed his hands on his unborn child, and a strange sensation filled his body, and he frowned.

"It feels…strange," he murmured, even as he slowly unwrapped the chord from its neck. "I feel something…almost like lyrium."

"We can worry about that later," barked Anders. "Is the chord undone?" Fenris nodded. "All right, now position it's head at the opening and let go." A moment passed before Fenris spoke.

"I…can't."

"Can't what?" asked Bethany.

"Let go. I can't let go."

"I don't understand." Anders said with a frown.

"Neither do I!" Fenris snapped truthfully. "Somehow the skin touching it is staying solid. I can't let go and withdraw, it's too confined. I would most likely tear Merrill apart trying."

"Ok, ok," Anders said in a placating tone. "In that case, you'll just have to guide it out."

Thus Fenris brought his daughter into the world, his eyes wide with wonder as he pulled the squirming, howling pink bundle into the light, holding her as Bethany cut and tied the chord. He passed her over to the two mages to clean and inspect, cleaned his hands and crawled onto the bed to lie next to his tired and happy lover. Tears of joy now washed away tears of pain, and he gave her a lingering kiss, pulling her close as though afraid she would disappear.

Finally, Anders passed the pink and howling girl into her mother's arms, and the healers left to give them some privacy. Both parents stared down at her in wonder, and she soon fell silent, her big eyes, that universal dark grey of infants, locked on the matching emerald pair above her. Merrill looked up at the handsome elf seated next to her, a huge grin on her exhausted face that he couldn't help but mirror.

"You're back," she whispered quietly, scarcely believing it was true. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"For as long as you wish me to be here." She chuckled tiredly, snuggling into him, enjoying the feeling of being whole for the first time in months. "Have you thought of a name?" he asked quietly as he gently stroked his lover's head.

"A few, but I couldn't decide. Did you have any ideas?"

"Mariel."

"That sounds pretty."

"It was my mother's name." Merrill looked up at him in surprise, even as her eyelids began to droop from exhaustion. He kissed her, a kiss full of love and promises. "Sleep, mei amor. We can talk in the morning." He gently took the babe from her arms as Merrill's head fell back onto the pillow. "Goodnight Merrill," he whispered as he stood.

"G'night Fenris, G'night Mariel." Came the sleepy reply.

Fenris cradled his newborn daughter, and began to sing softly to her, the old lullaby his mother used to sing. For the first time in well over a decade, he sang the words that he had forgotten along with his childhood. He didn't know why, but somehow stepping into the fade had returned his memories as Fenris, not to replace his memories as Leto, but to join them. Fenris wasn't Leto anymore, but he wasn't truly the old Fenris either. He was whole again, and as he gazed at Mariel, he thought not a moment too soon.

He stroked a knuckle against her cheek, and gasped. Her dark grey eyes flashed silver as his brands made contact with her skin. She giggled, and Fenris couldn't help but smile at the sound, even as he wondered what the flash had meant. He activated the brands on his hands and gently touched her cheek again. The moment it touched her, intangible skin became solid, and her eyes flashed again.

"Secrets already, Parvulus Unum?" he asked with a raised brow and a wry smile. She responded by dribbling and falling asleep. He chuckled, and lay down next to Merrill again, nestling their daughter between them.

_A/N: I used Latin for Arcanum. 'Mei amor' means 'my love' and 'Parvulus Unum' means 'little one'. And I made the baby a girl because I love the idea of Fenris being overprotective and scaring away all the boys who even think of getting close to his baby girl._


	24. Chapter 23 Epilogue

Epilogue

The bright spring sun shone down on the gathering in the clearing, where gaily dressed children ran excitedly through the crowd of adults, all dressed in their best for the coming event. In a nearby tent, Isabela and Velanna fussed over Merrill, with an amused Bethany and a very pregnant Aveline watching and occasionally making suggestions.

Fenris was out in the crowd, which included Lanaya's clan, his infant daughter in his arms as the hahren went over the steps with him. Mariel's skin had become a pleasing olive shade between her father's bronze and her mother's alabaster. Her head now sported tufts of fine white locks, and her eyes were green flecked with silver. Most people commented on how she looked like her father, but Fenris could already see that she had her mother's inquisitive nature and energy. She giggled in his arms, reaching up to try and touch the white lines on his chin.

"That is enough of that, Parvulus Unum," he said good-naturedly, leaning down to rub his nose against hers. She giggled at the game, and as her hand touched the lines on his neck, her eyes flashed silver. He frowned. They still hadn't figured out what it meant, and Anders had suggested if the girl had magic, she would most likely be incredibly powerful.

"Still no sign of Hawke?" Anders' voice came from right behind him.

"No, and I do not expect to see him." Fenris replied. "Where ever he and Vivenka went, they planned to be gone a long time. Although I still wonder why she took Leska." Anders sighed next to him.

"I know, I just…it's strange to have us all back together without him."

"I agree, but you know Hawke. He never did like attending fancy parties when he could be out there saving Kirkwall." The mage chuckled.

"True enough. Oh it looks like their starting. Here, I'll take Mariel." The mage plucked the child from his hands and unceremoniously pushed Fenris towards the group of male elves that would be his escort. Fenris glared at the man who was now babbling nonsense at the baby in his arms. Micah stood at the head of his escort, and the two elves nodded to each other gravely, a sign of the mutual respect they now shared.

The music began, and Fenris nervously straightened his fine coat as the march began. Anders had taken great delight in finding the perfect outfit for today, and the elf looked stunning in black trousers, a crisp white shirt and midnight blue coat, embroidered at the wrists and collar with silver. He gasped in wonder when he caught sight of Merrill, flanked by female elves on the other side of the meadow. The front section of her hair had been pulled back into an elaborate braid, leaving the rest to fall just past her shoulders. She was dressed in a floor-length, deep green dress that Isabela had gifted her, and predictably it clung to her figure, the neckline cut low enough to give a tantalising hint of cleavage while remaining relatively modest. Fenris knew he was grinning as he went through the steps, and Merrill was smiling shyly at him, blushing, as they reached the centre of the meadow together. From there, Lanaya and Velanna performed the ceremony, binding the pair in the eyes of the Creators, followed by a quick blessing from Sebastian in the name of the Andraste. It was sealed with a kiss, the chaste kiss Merrill intended suddenly deepened and lengthened by Fenris, in a reflection of their first kiss so long ago.

As they parted, Merrill thought of the angry, rude elf she had met on Sundermount, and marvelled at how he had become the loving, affectionate man who was now her husband. He still didn't trust mages, or magic, but he had looked past his hate for her. She was even more in love with the man he had become than with the one she had known in Kirkwall. Neither of them could have predicted where fate would take them, but she was glad that it had led to this moment. Anders handed her Mariel, and the newlyweds walked in tandem towards the freshly laid out wedding feast with their young daughter, surrounded by their friends and clan. His friends would later swear they had never seen Fenris smile as widely or for as long as he did on that day.

Thedas was at war, and the clan would have to move soon to escape human notice, but in that sunny meadow on that day, two elves would swear to you that life was perfect.

00000

_Many years later_

"Not another step!" Mariel ordered confidently, drawing her sword with a steady hand. In truth she preferred to use magic, but the stranger didn't need to know she had that trick up her sleeve. She stood tall in her new armour, a gift from her father, black Dalish style leather armour that bared her midriff with a breastplate similar to his and black drakeskin leggings. It complemented her olive skin and long white hair beautifully, and she was truly a sight to behold. She had many admirers, although none yet brave enough to test her rather protective father's wrath.

Her target stopped and starred at her. She was a young woman, a few years older than Mariel herself. Her hair was a deep black that had a strange purple sheen in the sunlight. She was short for a human, about Mariel's height, and she was very curvaceous under the dark blue robe she wore. Their eyes met, and the stranger smiled.

"Hello. We haven't met, but I know you, Mariel. My name is Urthemial. But you can call me Leska."

_A/N: And that is a wrap folks! Thank you to all of you who stuck with me til the end, especially to those who reviewed and kept me from abandoning this. And yes I gave them a happy ever after, I had to make up for being so mean to Merrill. _


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